


Recovery

by jackiestolz



Series: Ordinary and Recovery [2]
Category: Smosh
Genre: Multi, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-03-16 08:02:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 35
Words: 89,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3480563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackiestolz/pseuds/jackiestolz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sequel to Ordinary. When Ian loses his life to terminal cancer without ever telling his family and friends he was ill, Anthony, Kalel, and others have to cope with the loss. But for Anthony, things are a little more complicated than that. Losing your best friend is one thing. Finding out he was in love with you? That's a hard thing to recover from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Finally here!! Way later than I originally intended. First off, thanks for joining me, if you're one of those who read Ordinary then welcome back, and if you haven't read Ordinary, you can scroll up to my name, hit up my profile and check it out!! I look forward to writing for you guys again!

_Many stories begin with such thoughts and phrases as 'It was an ordinary day,' or 'It was an average day,' or 'It seemed like nothing could possibly go wrong,' and then comes the adventure, the romance, the tragedy. But twenty four year old Ian Hecox wasn't having a normal day; to the average human being, Ian Hecox hadn't had a normal day in over six months. Ordinary wasn't what Ian had, it was what he wanted, his only true wish. One that would never come true._

_But the stories of Ian's friends and family, the stories of sadness, loss, and defeat, those all started on an average day to them. Specifically, July eighth, 2012, the day Ian Hecox collapsed in his home, then was transported to his local hospital, where, preceded by painkillers from nurses and a catharsis from his own self, he died, and became another victim of the world. He had one last thought, a thought of his poor mother, and then came nothing. Or maybe heaven, or maybe hell. Rebirth, becoming a spirit, becoming a star. No one really did know what would happen to him, or all the other dead souls, did they._

_No one knew the final thought of Ian Hecox. No one ever found out. If they were asked what he was thinking, they might've guessed it was of his mother, or they could've said he was in too much pain to think, or anything, really. Because who knew him? Who really, properly knew him? Knew his soul, his thoughts, his body, his secrets. Everyone had pieces, but no one could complete the puzzle. No one ever could, not ever, no matter who the puzzle was. But they all try, all throughout history and undoubtedly for the remainder of their existence, they try. To learn, to discover, to cope, to care, to build. And on this ordinary day, July eighth, 2012, it came time to start building. Building the memory of a fallen friend, a memory, like all memories, that would one day be lost (but that's not important)._

Mrs. Cheryl Hecox was having her average day, starting with a quick run to the grocery store, followed by a cup of tea and a good book with plans to later tend to the back garden. That average day ended rather quickly, however, at just a few minutes to nine in the morning, when her phone rang. It was a nurse, who in haste explained that she was needed quickly at the hospital. Cheryl, knowing her son was affected by cancer, got in her car and rushed over, not knowing the seriousness of the situation. To her, her son was ill, but not gravely, and saw this visit as worrisome, but not an ending. How wrong she was.

"Hi, I'm here to see my son, Ian Hecox." Cheryl said to the young receptionist, who nodded and typed the name into the computer. 

"Room 134, that's down the main hallway, then take a right." She said, and Cheryl rushed down the hall. As she passed by rooms, counting room numbers on white doors, she worried, but not exceedingly, not as much as she should've been. When she looked ahead, at the door she knew to be the one that said 134, she saw a nurse stepping out, shaking her head.

"Excuse me!" She called out, then stepped closer. "That's my son's room. Ian Hecox."

The nurse gave her a pained look. "I'm sorry, Ian's not, um, available for visitors right now."

"Why?" Cheryl asked, confused. "What's wrong?"

"You just -- you can't see him right now." The nurse shifted in her white loafers. She was young, she never told anyone that a family member of theirs had died.

"Why can't I?" She said, panic making her voice a little louder. "Let me see him." She was demanding, taking a step forward. The nurse sighed.

"Mrs. Hecox, I am so sorry, but your -- your son has passed away."

Cheryl stared at her, shock and anger on her face. "No. No, I don't believe you. Let me see my son."

She made to step forward again, but the nurse put up a hand to stop her. She pushed the woman slightly to the side, and stormed to the door of Ian's room.

"Mrs. Hecox, wait!" The nurse called out, running over and grabbing her arm. Another nurse at the end of the hall, this one a tall man, saw the commotion and jogged over.

"Let me see my son! You let me see my son!" She screamed, her voice hoarse as the nurses grabbed her as gently as they could, pulling her away from the door. "He's not dead! No, no! He can't -- he can't be dead."

Her screams were dissolving into strangled sobs as reality started to take hold of her. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision, and the world became shifting whiteness as she began to shake. She stopped struggling, and embraced the taller nurse, who rubbed her back with a sad look on his face. The other nurse, eyes red with tears, nodded to him, and walked away.

From the distance, Doctor John Marrow stared at the woman, and an awful feeling settled at the back of his throat. He realized it was Ian's mother right away, and now, watching her struggle, he couldn't help but feel guilty. He had silently supported Ian's decision not to tell his friends and family about his condition, because when he lost his little sister to leukemia, he would've wanted the same. Less suffering, just a surprise, a quick shot of pain. But watching the broken woman before him made him feel as though he should have further pressured his patient into preparing her for this moment.

Cheryl was being led to a bench then, by the male nurse, but Marrow quickly stepped forward, not wanting her to reach it. The bench sat across a window in Ian's room, and from that part of the hallway, passerby could see his still figure lying on the bed, pale and sickly.

"Mrs. Hecox?" He addressed her softly, as she kept crying for her son. "My name is Doctor John Marrow. I treated Ian."

Cheryl removed a tissue from her purse and wiped her face, then temporarily stilled her quivering lip. "My son?" She questioned in a hoarse whisper.

He nodded. "I think it's time you knew the truth about his illness." He said solemnly. "I feel it would be better to discuss this in my office."

"Yes." She agreed, slight shock slipping into her sad expression. "Yes, I want to know what's really going on here. Lead the way."

"Um, I would, Ma'am, but there's a -- a window as we walk past." He glanced over his shoulder. "Through which you can . . . see your son."

She stared at him a moment, then looked over to where he had glanced, across from the bench not too far from the white door to his room. She slowly stepped around him, walking towards the window, and he only stared on, not daring to speak. When she stood in front of the window, she became completely motionless, looking upon her only son, lying sick and dead in a lonely hospital room.

Then she closed her eyes slowly, and sighed. It was the kind of sigh that rattled her bones, reduced her proper posture. It was a sigh that Doctor Marrow recognized too personally, as that was the sigh his own mother gave after she lost her only daughter, when she was just four years old. It was the sound of pure, agonizing pain. Of uncontrollable sorrow. Of silent defeat. He had heard Ian telling him he would not confess to the disease, he had heard the beep of the machine when the boy's heart stopped, and he had heard Cheryl scream and sob knowing her son was dead. But of everything he'd heard in this situation they were all forced into, nothing hurt him more than that sigh.

Cheryl opened her eyes after a moment and turned back to the doctor, attempting to mask her sadness with a determined look. "Tell me about my son."

He nodded, and took her to his office, leaving the frail body behind on the bed. When arriving, he sat in his own chair, behind his desk, and she sat rather uncomfortably in the metallic chair across from him, unaware of how much Ian despised it. She gave him a hard look, expecting answers, and he cleared his throat.

"On January eighteenth, Ian came in to see me, saying he wasn't feeling very well. He displayed the usual symptoms of a stomach virus, or really a large number of diseases. I gave him an MRI to ensure nothing was seriously wrong, but when I saw the tumors, I knew." He looked to her, struggling to keep the pain off his face. "Your son had stomach cancer, which is extremely rare and incredibly difficult to deal with. Surgeries and chemotherapy, at that stage, would have only increased his life expectancy by a year or two, at most, and he wasn't covered by his insurance for that, nor could he pay it himself. He knew he was going to die."

"You mean June." She said in a soft voice, after a quiet moment passed. "He told me July fifth, after our block party, so he must've found out in June."

He held back a sigh, not knowing how to tell her what he needed to say. "No, Ma'am, I meant January. Mr. Hecox -- Ian -- wanted to keep it to himself for awhile, as to not hurt anyone, and not feel different or pitied. I had no idea he would wait that long to tell people."

Her eyes watered and she closed them, ringing her hands. Marrow noticed the habit and was reminded of her son, and for a moment he hated himself for ever getting into that mess. The whole ordeal had caused him nothing but pain.

"He-" she shook her head, unable to process what was going on. "He lied to us."

"I'm sure he never meant to hurt you." Marrow said, wishing for this poor woman's pain to vanish.

"Were you -- were you close to him?" She asked after a couple of deep breaths. "Did you talk to him a lot?"

"No, I kept our relationship professional." He answered honestly, but knew he felt far more affectionate towards Ian than he did towards his other patients. Ian was his first cancer patient, and he reminded him of his little sister, which hurt him in unspeakable ways. He kept his distance, stayed professional, because he couldn't look at the young man without thinking of his own loss. "But I inferred quite a bit from our meetings over the last six months. He was a good man."

His throat was dry. He never wanted to speak aloud again. She nodded, staring at her hands folded in her lap. "Now what?" Was the only thing she could muster. 

"You don't have to get into the business of anything right now." He said, pitying her. "You can wait outside Ian's room, or in the waiting room, until you want to talk to a nurse, a lawyer, everyone you need to regarding your loss."

"I'll stay outside his room, watch over him." She said, knowing she could see the body from the bench in the hallway. 

"Alright." He stood. "Mrs. Hecox . . . I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you." She said in a tired voice, and she left his office to sit in front of Ian's room, guarding him like his angel, while he continued his work around the hospital, fighting back a migraine.

She spent a very long time on that bench. Sometimes she just stared at her son, but mostly, she cried. She wrestled with his secrets and his death, and very quickly forgave him, because she was his mother, and that's just what she had to do sometimes. She called her daughter after awhile, and told her what happened, and she was shocked and sad, but not as sad as someone properly close to her brother should've been. She sounded only like a distant friend, one who was giving condolences to a grieving mother.

It was a few minutes past two in the afternoon when Cheryl knew who she needed to call. There was a very large part of her that didn't want to, just to save the poor man from the huge amount of pain he would soon experience, but she knew that wasn't an option. Taking out her phone, she made the most difficult call of her entire life.

***

Anthony was sitting at home on the most average of all Sunday afternoons. Well, he would call it average if he was asked, but he knew it wasn't. There had been so much wrong over the past few months, that average had become something new, something unpleasant.

It started early May, when Ian fainted while they were working. Turning around, seeing people rushing towards his fallen friend, was without a doubt one of the most terrifying moments of his life. Then, finding out he had low blood pressure, and having to take care of him and his work, put a lot of stress on him. He had extra editing to do, more effort to put in than ever before. Ian was just not feeling his best, and he owed it to him to help. And, in his mind, his friend was barely ill.

He was sitting at his computer, editing, when he thought of Ian. He had called the previous day, told Anthony he had food poisoning. He, of course, knew Ian was sick for awhile, but never said anything, never needed to, convinced he was fine. Lately, though, he started looking worse, to a point where Anthony was becoming alarmed. He almost said something when Ian called, but thought it foolish and held his tongue. 

His phone suddenly rang, interrupting his thoughts, and he looked down at it, confused, seeing it was Ian's mother.

"Hello?"

"Anthony, dear. It's -- it's Cheryl." Her voice was gentle, nervous.

"Cheryl, is something wrong?" He asked, worried.

"Ian -- Ian passed away this morning."

There was nothing. No computer in front of him, no phone in his hand. No air in the room. He was alone, completely and horrifically alone. His best friend for twelve years, his former roommate, his brother, was gone. Dead.

At some point, the phone slipped from his hand. He had stood only to fall onto the ground, his chair rolling a few feet away. He was sitting on the floor, face red, sobbing, but for a few minutes, he didn't even realize it. He could only think of Ian, only see his face when he closed his eyes. And when he did realize he was crying, he only broke down further.

"Anthony!" Kalel ran in, frightened and concerned upon seeing him on the ground, but he paid no attention to her, unable to process the world after just being informed the worst news he'd ever received. She sat down next to him, engulfing him in a hug and trying to ask him what happened, but he couldn't force the words out, so she held him until his sobbing wore down.

It was several long, painful minutes later before he saw the place around him once again, and several more after that before he could control his tears. He, a wreck, finally stopped sobbing, his face wet with tears, his body hot and sticky with sweat. Kalel tried talking to him again, but he couldn't listen, staring at his phone on the carpet next to him. Thoughtlessly, he picked it up. Ian's mom was still on the line, quietly sniffling, most likely crying after hearing his wailing.

"Cheryl?" He asked, voice hoarse.

"Yes, dear?" She asked back quietly.

"Where are you?" He needed to be with her. Or with him.

"Sacramento General Hospital." 

"I'm coming over, now. I'll see you soon." He hung up without saying goodbye, then looked up to Kalel, who was shaking with anxiety. He stared at her, tears rising back into his eyes, knowing he had to break the news to her.

"Babe." He whispered, the tears falling again. She nodded, eyes wide. "Ian -- he-"

She looked as though she understood and nodded again, thankfully preventing him from saying it. He bent his head, choking and crying for a minute more, then stopped and stood, she along with him. They were clumsy and weak, both faces wet.

"I'm going to the hospital." He said, trying to sound stronger than he was.

"I'll drive you." She volunteered, wiping her face. Her makeup was running.

"No." He shook his head. "I'm going alone."

"Anthony, I can't let you drive like this-"

"No Kalel." He said with finality. He couldn't go with her to do this. And he couldn't let her see him like this. He was a wreck, and he knew he would get worse.

In the car, he cried again, loud sobs that made him feel stupid and childish, but he couldn't stop himself. His mind raced, thoughts and emotions hitting him so fast and so hard that he couldn't draw any real ideas or conclusions. The only thing he did realize was that he didn't even know how his friend left. 

He felt like the ride to the hospital barely happened, it went so fast. Last time he drove there, the day Ian fainted, it seemed to take years, many torturous years. When he got there, he was in a daze, and walked in the direction the receptionist told him to go until he saw Ian's mother ahead of him, sitting on a bench in the hallway. He walked closer, and she noticed him, fearfully looking directly across from the bench. He took another step and realized what was there.

"Oh God." He muttered, staring through the window. There lay his pale friend, a shell of his former self. He was white as the sheets he was tucked into, dark circles around his eyes and a thin face exemplifying how tired he was at the end of his life. "What happened?"

"He -- he had cancer." Her voice broke on the word, but she didn't cry, having done that for hours already. He stared at her, mouth slightly open in shock.

"I -- I can't believe it." He said, astounded. "Can people even have cancer without knowing it?"

A man he hadn't noticed before stepped forward, a doctor with a tan and a white coat. He looked exhausted.

"Yes, but not in this case. Ian had a rare terminal stomach cancer. He knew." He said, and Anthony became confused.

"No." He said slowly. "If he knew, he would've told me."

The doctor gave him a sad look, pity on his face. "He just wanted to protect you all. He knew for awhile, he never said anything."

"No." Anthony said again, looking over to his friend with a lump in his throat. "No."

"Anthony, he didn't tell me until Thursday." Cheryl whispered, tears filling her eyes. "And when he did, he didn't even tell me it was terminal. He didn't want us to be in pain."

"No. Cheryl, please stop." He begged her, desperation rising within him.

"He loved us, he was scared." She said, voice squeaky, and the tears started to slip down her cheeks.

"No, no he had low blood pressure." Anthony said, feeling his heart racing. He was scared then, truly frightened, and he wasn't quite sure why. "It's not that serious."

"That was a lie, Anthony." She said, barely able to speak anymore. "He lied to us."

And she broke down sobbing again, and Anthony never felt more pain in his entire life. Cheryl wasn't a woman who sobbed. Cheryl was Ian's mom, a nice suburban lady who had a simple little life, a happy one. Not this. Not this pain, not this horror. 

But he couldn't believe Ian had cancer. He just couldn't. Ian would tell him. Ian would say something. If he knew he was going to die, he was going to say goodbye. Maybe.

The doctor cleared his throat, and Anthony pushed that small, wriggling doubt from his mind back into his subconscious, and looked to the man.

"Mr. Hecox -- Ian -- he wrote this for you." He said, and extended his hand to reveal a folded slip of paper. Anthony took it and stared at it, but made no move to unfold it. There was no way Ian knew. There was no way he made some letter as a goodbye.

"He was a good man." The doctor said, pity still clear on his face, and Anthony looked over to the window, at his friend's body, the sound of Ian's mother crying next to him.

"Yeah." He muttered, but could say nothing more. The doctor nodded his head respectfully and walked away, and for a moment, Anthony and Cheryl were alone. Alone, except for Ian.

He stared at the body, knowing what his mother and the doctor said was true, but not wanting to listen, not wanting to believe them. Half of him couldn't even believe this whole thing was real. His mother was still crying behind him, and he felt his chest constricting.

"I can't be here." He said softly, fear and sadness in his voice. He was scared, confused, upset. He needed to get out of there, he needed to be home. He tore his eyes away from the window, looking at Ian one last time, then turned and rushed out, not saying a word to his crying mother. 

He drove home, mind blank, with dry eyes. He didn't think, didn't mourn, didn't cry, temporarily pushing all thoughts and emotions away so he wouldn't break down. When he got home, he walked past Kalel, ignoring her sad and questioning look, and went immediately to bed, kicking off his shoes and not bothering to undress. He curled up on his side, buried underneath his blankets, and stared at his wall.

Kalel walked in, standing at the door, and he could feel her presence, but didn't say a word. After a moment, she walked away, knowing it would be best to leave him alone, and he stayed silent only a minute after that before crying again. His greatest friend, dead. And maybe he even lied about it. He cried himself to sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, you read a story, and a character woke up not knowing where they were, not knowing what awful things they had just been through. A moment of peace. This was something Anthony thought of when he woke up Monday morning, something he longed for. But he knew, right away. He remembered everything of the previous day, and he hated it.

He prayed the events of yesterday were a dream as he stretched and abandoned his soft, warm bed. Prayed Ian was still alive, prayed he had not watched his mother succumb to awful tears and madness. Prayed he was wearing yesterday's clothes not because he cried himself to sleep, but because he was too tired to finish editing.

But he knew his prayers were unanswered when he went into the kitchen, breakfast already laid out, and a pitying look on Kalel's tired face. He glanced at her briefly, but found the look too painful, and sat down, grabbing a fork and stabbing at some eggs he couldn't bring himself to eat. There was a few minutes of silence, broken only by Kalel sipping her coffee and Anthony's fork hitting the plate.

"His Facebook and Twitter are gone." She said quietly. "People are just starting to notice."

He said nothing.

"Why?" She asked, even more quietly. He said nothing, realization dawning on him. If Ian really did know he was dying, he must've deleted his accounts before he passed on. Saved them the trouble, maybe.

For the first time, he wondered why Ian didn't tell him. He supposed he should've been angry, but instead, he was just upset. Broken. It didn't matter to him that Ian didn't say anything, or if it did, he felt too much sadness to really care. His best friend was gone. That was all that mattered.

"I'm going back to bed." Anthony muttered, then stood, not cleaning his plate. Kalel only looked at him as he walked away, still in yesterday's shirt and jeans. He retreated back to his bedroom, to a bed that wasn't as comfortable as it was that morning, and fell into an uneasy sleep once more.

***

"Ant? Babe?" Kalel was gently pushing his shoulder in attempt to shake him awake. He'd been half awake and half asleep most of the morning, struggling in his sheets. "There's someone on the phone for you."

He shook his head, keeping his eyes closed, not even wanting to imagine who was calling him. He didn't want to deal with the world just yet.

"Ant, I think you should take it, it's a crew member."

He shook his head again, not wanting to think of Smosh without Ian. He wasn't even certain of what would happen to the company now that Ian was gone.

"Honey, I really think you should take it." He heard Kalel whisper. "He doesn't even know Ian's . . ." She trailed off,unable to finish the sentence, and Anthony gave in, sitting up and taking the phone.

"Hello?" He asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Hey Anthony, it's Drew, listen, everyone's starting to freak out because Ian's not on Twitter anymore, and when we called him to ask why he didn't pick up. What's going on? Is everything okay?"

Anthony sighed, realizing he would have to break the news to his friend. Drew was a colleague that they'd both had a comfortable relationship with, who would certainly be disheartened at the news of Ian's passing. He cringed and took a deep breath.

"Drew." He prepared himself. "Ian, uh, Ian died yesterday." Saying it made him want to vomit. He still couldn't believe he was gone.

"Jesus." Drew responded, shocked. "I'm so sorry, man."

"Yeah, thanks." Anthony muttered, sudden tears forming in his eyes, and he sniffled, humiliated. He didn't want to sound like he was breaking down; he did enough of that the previous day.

"So, Anthony, I'm really sorry to ask, but what do I tell everyone else?"

Anthony sighed. "The truth, I guess. That he's -- he's gone."

"What are we gonna do about filming now?" Drew asked, hearing the lump rise in Anthony's throat, so not asking anything too personal.

"Cancel it. Cancel everything." Anthony said, trying to sound stronger than he was. Tears were spilling down his cheeks. He felt lost without Ian, alone without his best friend.

"Sure." He said, quietly. "Stay home, okay Anthony? I'll take care of everything I can here, you don't have to do anything."

"Thanks, Drew." His voice broke, and he felt ashamed. He hung up without another word and tossed the phone on the other side of the bed. He curled up again, feeling like a small child, and sobbed until his drained body could sleep once more.

***

He woke up to darkness, meaning it was quite late, since it was Summer. He heard Kalel rustling around him, and when he sat up, he realized she had brought him dinner in bed. She handed him his plate and sat next to him, eyeing him with concern but saying nothing.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Kalel eating and Anthony picking at his food. He felt at sea in a solid world where everyone else kept their footing. Like he was the only one who didn't have any control.

"What happens now?" Kalel broke the silence, questioning him with a soft tone.

He didn't answer.

***

He woke up on Tuesday already exhausted, as if loss pulled strength from him. He spent a long time in bed, eventually rising only to use the bathroom. When he was returning to his bedroom, he heard Kalel approach him, and dreaded what she would say. He wasn't in the mood for pity.

"Anthony?" She called out to him, and he turned to see her already dressed and ready for the day. "That was Cheryl on the phone."

He nodded and made to walk away, but Kalel spoke again.

"The funeral is Thursday."

He leaned against the wall, facing her, and nodded, unable to think of anything to say. "Okay." Was all he could manage.

"I . . . I think you should tell the fans." Kalel gathered the strength to say. "They don't even know he's gone, Ant. The internet's going into a meltdown."

He nodded, staring at the ground, but couldn't say anything more. He walked past her, barely brushing her shoulder, and entered the home office, powering up the computer. Waiting for it to load, he pulled the office chair towards the desk, as it was several feet away. The last time he sat in that chair, he found out his best friend was dead.

Checking Twitter for the first time since Ian passed, he realized what Kalel said was true, and horrifically so. One of the trending topics was '#ComeBackIan' and another was '#WhatHappenedToSmosh.' They had no idea what was happening, and were responding with fear and anger, worried for the future. Anthony had to admit, he was scared, too.

Many of the fans had tweeted him and the Smosh account, asking what was going on, but no one had answers for them. He saw people asking if Ian left because he was sick, or because he was bullied, and it broke his heart to see that no one even considered the possibility that he was dead. His young fans and their innocence sometimes. And now, he would have to take some of that naivety away.

He picked up his phone and called a member of the team, part of him not wanting the man to pick up.

"Hey, Anthony. How are you?" Scott picked up, and he could tell from the pity in his colleague's voice that Drew told him what happened.

"I'm good, thanks." He lied. "Listen, um, I need you to put something on the front of the site, for Ian. Just telling everyone what -- what happened. I -- I just can't."

"I understand." He said, pity lacing his voice, and Anthony, for a moment, felt a tinge of anger at being talked down to. "If you don't mind me asking, how did he pass on?"

"He-" Anthony paused, unsure of what to say. "He had cancer."

"Oh my God." Surprise filled his voice. "I didn't even know."

"He kept it close to his chest." Anthony said truthfully, but didn't reveal more of the situation.

"Well, I'm really sorry, man." He responded sympathetically, more pity in his tone. "I'll get to work on the site right away."

"Thanks." Anthony answered, and hung up. Already tired from the few events of the day, he returned to his bed, avoiding thinking of Ian as he went into a restless sleep.

***

It was around two in the afternoon when he felt something vibrating near his face, effectively waking him up. Sitting up in bed, he saw who was calling, and picked up, knowing that when the man called, on rare occasion, it was always very important.

"Mr. Morgan?" Anthony cleared his throat. It was the man who took care of the big business of Smosh, the paperwork and other things.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Padilla." Mr. Morgan said, professional as always. "We've got something very important to discuss."

"Do we?" Anthony asked, rubbing his forehead.

"Yes, we do. Now, following Mr. Hecox's death, we need to know what's happening to the company, business-wise. Looking at recent popularity by page and video views-"

"Wait, wait, hold on." Anthony said, hot anger rising in him. "He just died."

"I am aware, Mr. Padilla, but it's important these affairs are handled quickly. Do you know if Mr. Hecox had a will, or made any mentioning of what would happen to the company following his passing?"

"What? No, I don't -- listen, it's way too soon to talk about this. He left on Sunday, it's only Tuesday."

"Mr. Padilla-"

"No." He said forcefully, truly angry now. "Just because you want to make as much money as possible doesn't mean that you can just be so fucking uncaring about him. It's too fucking soon to talk about this, so I'm not dealing with this right now."

He hung up and tossed his phone to the side, a bit more forcefully than he would normally. Standing up, he paced around the room, taking deep breaths. He was suddenly reminded of how Ian would do the same during the last few months of his life, during those stressful moments on set. He had picked up the habit without even noticing. Stunned, he sat back on his bed, calming himself down.

He was still convinced it was too soon to discuss business without Ian. He understood where Mr. Morgan was coming from, but that didn't completely distinguish the anger flaming in his gut. Irritated, he settled back under the covers, staring at the ceiling for at least an hour, unable to sleep.

It was a few hours later when he felt something weigh down the bed next to him, and he shook himself from the light sleep he hadn't realized he'd gotten into to see a silent Kalel, holding a plate in each hand. He took his, not thanking her, but being thankful at heart. On a normal day, she would've had a fit if he ate in bed. Now, they were eating dinner in it together. 

She settled in next to him, leaning against him, but he didn't say a word, noting that her body wasn't very warm, and lacked the comfort he wanted. He thought about what had happened before he fell asleep, the business phone call. The man asking if Ian said what would happen to Smosh if he died.

He recalled a Thursday, one that had passed a long time ago. Ian asked him to witness his will. 'Just incase,' he said. That horrified him. And then that Saturday, with his lawyer, listening to all of the business things, that shook him even further. He didn't even eat dinner that day, he was so disturbed by the very thought of his friend's passing. And now here he was, a few short months later, alone.

Did Ian know then? Was he aware that he was leaving, and that long ago? Anthony was angry, for the first time, at his old friend. He just didn't understand, and he was so confused. He just wished things were easier. He wished Ian hadn't left.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Anthony's finally going to read the letter, which'll be the point of central conflict for the remainder of the story. Until now it's just been 'waah Ian's dead' but now that the letter's been read it'll be angst angst ANGST. Yayy!! Please enjoy :)

He woke up Wednesday morning just as he did the past two days; filled with doubts, worries, and prayers that the mess he was now living in wasn't real. That it was all a horrific nightmare, and that he would wake up soon, with his best friend Ian still alive. But the awful reality of it all was still there. They were all trapped in the real world, the real world where Ian was dead and everyone was miserable.

After waking up, he shuffled over to his computer, turning it on while rubbing his tired eyes. He wanted to check on the fans, see how they were doing, but it was a very small part of him that wanted this. He didn't want to see them breaking down, didn't want to know how the rest of the world was dealing with it.

They were all mourning, all across the internet. 'Rest In Peace Ian' had graced every Tweet on his feed, every post on their Wall, every photoset on their Dashboard. They were all heartbroken.

But that wasn't the only thing he saw. Everywhere he looked, with that mourning, came pity. Mounds of it, tons. All directed at him. It irked him, and he knew it shouldn't have, but it did. His mood, because of this, grew sour, and he, in annoyance, let out a huff of frustration before looking to the right of him.

He saw a folded up piece of paper on the desk next to his computer, one that he normally would dismiss as unimportant, but he knew what this note was. It was Ian's final letter, stuffed into his pocket, then nearly tossed into the laundry, then spared by Kalel casually tossing it onto the desk without caring to read it, not knowing what it truly was. It was the last time Ian addressed him before his death.

Curiosity took control. He reached over, hand shaking, and picked up the letter. Slowly, he unfolded it, fearfully wondering what Ian could have possibly said to him with the knowledge that he would soon be dead.

_Anthony-_

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I'm leaving you. You'll never know how sorry I am. I don't want to go. I don't want it to end._

_I never told you because I was scared. I didn't want things to change. I didn't want you to pity me, I didn't want everything to be weird, I didn't want our relationship to be ruined._

_But then I waited awhile, then it was too long. And I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you from the pain. I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want to die miserable because of what I said or did to you. But I feel like shit, and I bet I would feel like shit whether you were with me right now or not. I should have told you. I should have warned you, I should have been a better friend._

_I did the best I could, but I was blinded, because I was in love. In high school, God, I had such a crush on you, Ant, but I wasn't sure about anything, and then you were embarrassed, and then Frankie yelled at us -- I decided to just force myself to like girls, to_ _let you be happy. I just want you to be happy. But I can't protect you from everything, like I tried to with this cancer. It hurt to tell my mom, but it doesn't matter, because she deserved to know, like you deserved to know. You've been too good a friend not to know._

_Please, don't stop going. Don't stop living. Grow up, get old. Be grateful for everything you have, because I wasn't, and now I have nothing._

_Take care of Charlie for me._

_I love you. And I'm so sorry._

_\- Ian._

When he first learned Ian was gone, he wasn't aware that he was breaking down, wasn't aware of his sobbing, until a few minutes after it started. But at this time, he was cruelly aware, and he hated himself and the world for every second of it. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, his nose was starting to drip, and his hands were shaking more than they ever had during late night editing sessions with far too much caffeine running through him. And he hated his sobbing, and he hated Ian for writing the letter and Marrow for giving it to him, and his mother for making him cry when she did and Kalel for not finding a way to fix it all, and he hated cancer for even existing and life for being so thoughtlessly awful, so evil, hideous, confusing, complicated and long, so insufferably long, with no end to this freakish pain in sight.

And all this bitter anger shook through him, rattled him and drove him momentarily insane, and then gave way to a flood of defeat and tears, and he sat sobbing. He was unsure of what to think, or to feel, and he couldn't handle the situation at all.

Kalel found him, just as she did the first time he broke like this, in the very same room. She saw him holding the note, sobbing, and after a failed moment of attempting to console him, took it gingerly from his hands, read it quickly, then, of all things, dropped it and rushed from the room.

Anthony was still sobbing when she returned a few minutes later, wiping his face in attempt to dry his many tears.

"Charlie." Was the only word he could croak out, and Kalel quickly nodded.

"I called his mom, she has him." She said, and Anthony stared at the ground, shaking but no longer crying. A minute of painful silence passed.

"Ian. He was in love with me." Anthony said quietly, voice cracking on the last word. "Why didn't he tell me?" Incredulous sadness and anger reverberated through his question, and Kalel took a step forward.

"You're not gay, Anthony. He wanted you to be happy." He heard weakness in her voice, but she was strong enough not to cry then.

"If he asked me." And tears returned to his eyes. "If he asked me, I would have. I would have . . ." 

"I don't believe you." She responded firmly, and he went quiet. He didn't know if he believed him, either. He didn't know what he could believe about anything.

His phone rang, and he reached for it, picking up for the unfamiliar number without thinking.

"Hello, is this Anthony Padilla?" A man asked.

"Yeah, who's this?" Anthony wiped his nose, surprised the man pronounced his name right.

"My name's David Thompson, I'm a representative of Youtube. I'd like to give my condolences on behalf of the company regarding your loss." His tone was business-like, and Anthony didn't want to trust him.

"Thank you." He said flatly, feeling as though there was more to the call than just pity.

"Now, we here at Youtube love both of you guys and your work with us, and that's what we need to discuss today. Your work, that is." He'd went to school and learned how to really talk to people, Anthony could tell by his words and voice. Make it seem like they have a more personal bond with the company as a subconscious propaganda. 

"What about it?"

"Well, Mr. Padilla, we were wondering what you know about the future of Smosh. Will the company continue with you, or if you plan to leave your position, or if it keeps going at all, really. That sort of thing."

"I'm not stopping Smosh." Anthony said, a bit curtly. "And I'm not abandoning it, either. That's not what Ian wanted."

But he wasn't even certain of that statement. Ian left the business to him in that will, months ago, but did he want it to keep going? He didn't mention Smosh in his final letter, just a crush and a pet, so what did he want now?

"Okay, Mr. Padilla, that's absolutely fine. Something else we need to discuss, then, is Ian's channel. Now, usually when someone with a Youtube account passes away, there's a process so that someone else can assume control over the channel. However, in this situation, we really don't need to confirm with a death certificate and all the paper work, seeing as you two have been with us for years. Am I correct in assuming that you have full access to Ian's channel?"

"Yes." Anthony rubbed his head, feeling a headache approaching.

"Well, then, if you'd like to keep the channel, just changing the email address to your own and editing the profile will work just fine. But we have to ask, would you like us to remove the channel for you?"

"Remove the channel?" Anthony questioned, sitting up straighter.

"It would remove the profile, all of the videos, and anyone subscribed would be unsubscribed." David explained, and Anthony felt lost in a hazy world.

"No." He said weakly, shaking his head.

"Mr. Padilla, while the passing of your friend is truly upsetting and unfortunate, we here at Youtube do recommend deleting the channel. We are aware that all videos posted are also available on the Smosh.com page, and inactive channels do clutter up our website and are eventually deleted."

"Wait." Anthony squeezed his eyes shut. "Just wait. Don't delete it yet, just don't. Please."

"Very well, Mr. Padilla. If you switch the email, the account is yours, just remember that inactive channels are deleted over time. I apologize for your loss once again, and ask you to have a good day." Business-like tone, as it was the entirety of the call.

Anthony hung up without a goodbye, staring at the ground. Kalel looked at him a moment, her face unreadable, before speaking.

"We should do something." She suggested, her tone falsely chipper. "Get our minds off it all. I have to get some stuff for a cosplay project, how about we go shopping and get some lunch?"

"I don't really want to. You should just go alone, okay?" Anthony muttered his answer, eyes still on the ground.

She stood for a moment, silently, then, understanding, turned and left him to be alone with his thoughts. He thought about Ian's letter, thought about what it meant. _Don't stop going. Don't stop living. Grow up, get old._ Well that definitely took killing himself off the table. He had to admit it was on there; he had no idea how to live without Ian, he'd been doing it so long.

But don't stop going was about all he said. Did he want Smosh to stop? Maybe going just meant living, surviving, maybe it didn't mean keep the company going. Or maybe it did, maybe he wanted Anthony to keep Smosh alive. That would be the obvious answer wouldn't it, he did create the channel with Anthony, after all.

But maybe he knew the company wouldn't be the same without him. Anthony already could tell it wouldn't be, as the company was he and Ian's brain child. So much would change, enough to make it seem like it might not be worth it to keep the channel going.

And then, of course, there was what he was avoiding thinking of, what he could feel eating at his insides. The crush. 'I was in love,' he said. Ian was in love with him. In high school, yes, and maybe after that, maybe until the day he died. The letter was a bit vague on that. But it was past tense, wasn't it, so maybe that meant that in the end, he was out of love. Though, looking at the letter, it was mostly past tense, as if Ian already considered himself dead.

He wondered when his friend died. Not the time and date he knew, Sunday, July eighth 2012, 9:03 am, but the real time. The exact moment he stopped being Ian Hecox and started being a lie, started being someone who hid from him and felt so much guilt and so much shame. Maybe it was when he got cancer, or maybe when he got his crush. And for a moment, a hatred flooded his veins so thickly that it scared him, properly scared him, and he had to tuck his thoughts away to think of later.

Kalel returned for a rather silent lunch, filled with awkward pauses and tense feelings. He couldn't imagine what she was thinking of, but he figured it couldn't have been very good. He spent the rest of the afternoon sitting numbly in front of the television, seeing the images in front of him but not absorbing them. He existed in a blur, and had no real words or perception. This continued very late into the night, which, unknown to him, was very poor indeed. For anyone who'd been in that position before knew that no good could come from thoughtless mourning.

 


	4. Chapter 4

He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to lie in that state of half-sleep forever, despite his sweaty body sticking to the sheets and the sounds of his girlfriend moving around in the other room. A large part of him would prefer that permanent discomfort over the period of agony and mourning he would have to deal with that day.

When he could no longer deny his need to awaken, he rose from bed and walked into the kitchen in his boxers, searching for breakfast. What he found instead was Kalel in the living room, laying out his best suit. He briefly wondered if he had to film a video that day, with the suit required, but then he realized; he could not attend the funeral in casual clothing.

Sighing, he left Kalel without a word, moving on to the kitchen. After choking down some flavorless cereal, he took a shower, long and hot despite the already prominent heat of the day. It was mid-July, after all, and unnaturally sunny when it should've been cold and cloudy. But nature didn't mourn his friend like he did. 

As he dried his hair with a towel, quickly curling in the heat of the Summer, his phone rang in the other room. He rushed over to pick it up, but wasn't particularly delighted to do so.

"Hey, Drew."

"Hey Ant, I'm sorry to call right now, but I just need to talk to you about some Smosh things." Drew said softly, and Anthony sucked in his breath.

"Sure, okay."

"So we haven't released any Ianh videos this week, but the guys are putting together a tribute video to put out tomorrow. We thought it best if we didn't force you to take part."

"Yeah, okay." He said, voice hollow.

"So tomorrow's Friday video will be the tribute video, but after that no one's really sure of what's gonna happen. We'll have to have a discussion about that."

"Okay." He responded quietly, hoping he wouldn't choke up, and Drew noticed.

"Listen, we'll all see you at the funeral later, but we won't talk business then, we're there to respect Ian." His voice was indeed respectful, but Anthony guessed it was respect for him, not his dead friend.

"Yeah, see you then." Anthony sighed and hung up. He wasn't sure he could handle what was to come.

***

His suit neat, his hair straightened, he stood outside the funeral home, taking deep breaths. Kalel, in a black dress beside him, waited patiently, knowing he would be having troubles dealing with this. After a minute, he nodded to her, and they went in, he hoping he had gathered all his strength.

The first thing he saw was Ian's mother, Cheryl, in a black dress, holding a tissue in shaking hands. He hadn't seen her since Sunday, when they met at the hospital, but it looked like she'd aged a thousand years since then. She was sitting in the foyer, in one of the many ugly chairs found in funeral homes, but stood and hugged him upon seeing him. She wasn't crying, but he assumed she just had, and would later.

"Thank you for coming, Anthony." She said in his ear as they embraced. "Ian would've been really happy you came."

"I'm sorry for your loss, Cheryl." He answered respectfully, not wanting to think of what Ian would've felt about all this.

"You too, sweetheart." She let him go and hugged Kalel, and they left her to go into the main room.

Anthony, for a moment, foolishly thought of a fancier VidCon. The first person he saw was Ryan Higa, wearing a suit and chatting in a soft voice to Justine Ezarik, who was standing in a navy dress with Toby Turner. Grace Helbig was in a black dress and speaking to a suited Michael Buckley nearby. Dan and Phil were off to themselves on the side, and Gavin Free was making conversation with Mark Fischbach. Shane Dawson was in a vest in the corner, hunched down talking to his girlfriend Lisa in soft tones. Looking around the room, he saw the familiar faces of Kassem, Jenna, Shay, Ray, Philip, and the entire cast and crew of Smosh.

It lightened him slightly to think of all the people who came for Ian, but his mood dropped immediately when he realized why he was there. He looked to the back center of the room and felt his heart stop in his chest. Ian’s polished wood coffin stood on display, with the body surrounded by flowers. From the other side of the room, it didn’t even look like him, just some sick display. The last time he saw his friend was in the hospital, totally still in his bed, and the last time he saw him alive was a Monday, their last Mail-Time. What was it he said to him? “See you later?” He didn't, not alive. They'd had one phone call after that, and now they were here, at a stuffy funeral home.

"Anthony." He heard someone say his name in a soft tone. He turned to see Ian's sister, looking upset, but not as though she'd cried. He knew they weren't very close, and doubted she cried at all, even when she found out.

"Hey. I'm sorry for your loss." He said, shaking her hand. She nodded and shook hands with Kalel.

"I'm sorry for yours." Was her only answer. "I know you were a lot closer to him than I was."

He nodded awkwardly, and Kalel cut in. "How's Philadelphia? I heard you're going to be a cardiologist."

"Yeah, I'm in school for it up there." She gave a half smile. "It's hard work but it's fun. Got a boyfriend awhile ago, he's around here somewhere."

"Well good for you." Kalel smiled, and Ian's sister looked over her shoulder.

"Thanks. Look, I'll talk to you later, my uncle just arrived." She nodded politely to them both and walked away.

"Babe, I'm gonna sign us in on the roster, you should start walking up front." Kalel murmured to him. He nodded and worked his way to the front, feeling silence gather around him as he went. People halted their already quiet conversations and hid their glances, and he knew exactly why. He was closer than a brother to Ian, and here he was, twenty four, at his funeral.

Ian was unmoving in his casket. He was far more pale than Anthony had remembered, and his face far more thin. Lying before him, he looked petite, his neat navy suit seeming minuscule in comparison to Anthony’s black one. His hair looked darker, duller, thinner. Anthony had seen a documentary once that said funeral directors super glue the lips shut so if the jaw dropped the body wouldn’t smile. He felt sick for a moment, and almost swayed.

Anthony was standing in front of the body, with half the room silent, staring, and he felt like something had broken inside him. Inside this little wooden box was the man who loved him, and all the world was watching him, waiting for a reaction. And he would bet anything they weren't expecting anger.

He was furious. At Kalel for making him come, at Cheryl for having this stuffy funeral that Ian would've hated, at his sister for not appreciating him, at everyone staring at him, at Ian for being dead and keeping so many goddamn secrets. And, in a sick way, at himself, for not finding a gun and killing himself right after Cheryl called him, before he could discover what Ian had done to him.

He wanted to reach down, pick Ian up and slap him in the face until he awoke, so they could all go home and be alright again. He was nearly shaking with anger, but paralyzed in his body, like he was trapped in a nightmare. He felt hot tears drip down his face, and all of the room quickly turned and went back to their sad, quiet conversations, none wanting to see something so sad as a man who'd lost so much.

"Baby? You okay?" Kalel appeared beside him, speaking softly and touching his arm. He let out a breath and wiped his tears.

"Yeah. I just need to sit down." He felt some of his anger leave him as he sat in the first row of chairs with his girlfriend, staring at his hands twisted in hers rather than Ian's coffin.

He let out a breath and shook slightly, hot tears still on his reddened cheeks. He didn't care if anyone saw, they all knew them, they all knew what they had. Except, maybe, himself. Maybe he didn't know. The man Anthony called a friend called him a crush, something not to be taken lightly. _In love with you_. God, what was he supposed to say to that? Was he supposed to be gay, was he supposed to mourn Ian as a lover? He didn't even know what he felt for him. Love? Of course. In love? He had no idea.

He dried his face and sat, in want of silence and solitude, but then came the procession of condolences. Nearly everyone there knew him, and they all approached him to give him their polite pity. He spent the next hour with a solemn expression, thanking every old family member, crew member, and Youtuber for their consideration. Inside, he was cringing with sadness, confusion, and ultimately boredom, with the most exciting moment of the afternoon being Mari bursting into tears when speaking to him. That brought him out of his reverie long enough to wrap her into a hug, but he returned to his shell as she left him to sit with a teary eyed Kalel.

At some point during this procession, he looked up and locked eyes with a familiar looking man, Ian's doctor standing respectfully to the side. They stared at each other blankly, but said nothing, didn't approach. Anthony didn't even remember his name, didn't remember if he gave it. He wondered how well he knew Ian, if they were friends, but decided not to inquire. The answer, whatever it was, would only hurt him.

After all this was done, and he found himself alone as Mari and Kalel conversed beside him, he stood, got closer to the coffin, and stared again at the pale figure. He felt so stupidly lost and alone, like a child in a store, utterly helpless. He had no idea what he would do about anything at all from then on.

"Anthony?" He heard a hesitant voice nearby, and he turned to see an old man in a fine suit. The man was a few inches shorter than him (it pained him to instantly think that he was maybe an inch taller than Ian) and slightly portly, though that would be expected for someone his age. His white hair was thinning, and the look on his face was one of more sorrow and concern than he'd ever seen. Concern, of course, was all he'd gotten that day, and by then he was rather sick of it.

"Yes. I'm sorry, are you related to Ian?" He shook hands with the man, who seemingly tried and failed to give him a small smile.

"No, no, my name is Kris Rosenthal, I um, I was Ian's therapist." Kris said, and Anthony stared at him, confused.

"Therapist? He never mentioned . . ." He trailed off, looking at his shoes.

"I was recommended to him by Doctor Marrow after he received his diagnosis. I knew he didn't tell you about the sessions, he didn't want to worry you." Kris said, mourning Ian, feeling sorry for Anthony, yet appearing studious at the same time, looking him over. Anthony wondered how one human could juggle so many emotions at once before another thought dawned on him.

"Wait, those YMCA councilor things, were they fake? To cover up therapy?" Anthony questioned, incredulous and a bit too loud.

"Unfortunately, my boy." Kris responded calmly, and Anthony became hot with annoyance. He took a step closer and said his next words quietly.

"Don't call me your boy, don't you dare. You knew Ian, not me." He snarled. "Why are you even here? You were just his therapist."

Anthony saw pain flicker in the old man's eyes at that last sentence, but he didn't back away. Kalel was watching him from the corner of her eye, suspicious of what was going on.

"Well, Mr. Padilla, I was good friends with Mr. Hecox because of our professional relationship. However, if you'd like me to leave, out of respect to you, I will." His tone was ever calm and rational.

"No . . . no. You don't have to leave." Anthony said slowly, taking a step back and rubbing his forehead. "This is just a lot to take in."

"I understand." He nodded, downhearted. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to pray for the boy, then I'll sign the roster and be on my way."

Anthony nodded, and for reasons unknown to him, his eyes teared up as he sat with Kalel once again, watching the old man kneel in front of the casket to pray. After a moment, he stood, nodded to Anthony, and disappeared to the back of the room without another word. Another secret Ian had kept. How could he?

He dried his eyes and turned to see the last person he expected to see. Mel, in a pretty black dress, was standing off to the side, wringing her hands and examining the casket and the crowd. When their eyes connected, he called her over with a motion of his head, and she came to him with a small, polite smile on her face.

"Hey. I'm sorry." She apologized for his loss as she sat beside him. It was a term he heard all day, and paid no attention to it.

"Hi. Didn't expect to see you here." He replied off-hand, and she nodded, looking away with tears in her eyes. He really didn't, seeing as Ian broke up with her back in February and she fired off angry tweets for weeks afterwards.

"I live in LA now." She managed to say evenly, despite her tears. "I drove up when I heard. Anthony?" She turned back to him, the tears in her eyes spilling over. "In February, when he . . . did he know? That this was coming?"

He swallowed hard. "Yeah."

"And so did you?" She asked, her voice sounding odd then as she was crying harder.

". . . Yeah." Anthony grabbed her hands and choked the word out, the lie. He was never told, just like her.

"He just broke up with me to protect me." She wiped her eyes, turning her fingertips dark with her mascara. "Stupid." She shook her head and smiled a little. "I thought he was going to propose."

Anthony nodded but turned away, tears blurring his vision. He really thought Ian loved her, but he didn't mention how he felt about her in the letter. Only him. _In love with you._ Not sad little Mel. He always thought that Ian loved her, really he did, but not that strongly, almost as if he was settling for her. He guessed that now he knew why.

Mel left him a minute later, to kneel in front of the casket, then depart before she could go into hysterics, and the rest of the funeral passed uneventfully. More pity, more sorrow, and more confusion on Anthony's part. He didn't know what to think or feel. He was just a mass, a jumble, a horribly large thing. He was very much trapped in his emotions.

Finally, Kalel leaned in and informed him that Ian's closest friends were going to Cheryl's house afterwards to pay their respects, which included the two of them, causing his breath to hitch. He didn't want to see that place again, but he had no choice. 

When the amount of mourners dwindled down and the service hours were over, he and Kalel walked to the door of the funeral parlor, but he paused and looked back.

“Cheryl.” He heard Kalel say beside him. “We need a minute.”

She took Anthony by the arm, and they walked down to the coffin in silence as Cheryl walked away. The old funeral director was tidying up in the back of the room, but Kalel paid him no mind. She pulled something from her purse discretely and slipped it just below Ian’s hand. It was a box of Canadian Smarties, covered in Pokemon and donut stickers. Anthony was surprised by the tender action.

“I asked your mom for this.” She took a small parcel wrapped in tissue paper out from her bag. “I’ll be right outside that door.” 

She handed it to him and walked away, leaving him to stand there with Ian. He looked down and unwrapped it, then his eyes welled up with unexpected tears. It was a dirty old Nintendo 64 cartridge, the one they played together so often when they were younger. Smash Bros.

He sniffled, tears falling as he breathed in the dusty funeral home and the fresh flowers, and placed the cartridge next to Ian’s hand, on his palm. He rested his own hand on top of Ian’s hesitantly, but it didn’t feel cold or foreign. It just felt like nothing. He looked into his face and wanted to say something to him, have some last words in this heavy silence. 

But he could think of nothing to say, so turned his head away for the last time, stared into the distance, and just held his hand for a moment. 

And then he pulled his hand back, and walked away, and never saw his friend again. When he met Kalel at the door, he didn’t look her in the eyes.

***

They all drove to Cheryl's home, a place that felt empty to Anthony even when full of people. This was the wake, where instead of mourning Ian's death, they celebrated his life, which meant eating chips and cookies and laughing about the time he set Mr. Duncan's hair on fire during a lab experiment gone wrong. Anthony sat on the side, silent, and slipped away into the kitchen after hearing an hour's worth of stories that he would normally be laughing at. There, he found Cheryl, wiping her eyes with a napkin.

"Why hello there, Anthony, I didn't see you there." She smiled, but out of courtesy, not joy.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." Anthony replied sheepishly, taking a step back to leave, but she stopped him.

"No, it's alright dear, I could use the company." She threw the napkin away, not crying at the moment, although she usually did lately. "Would you like a drink?"

"Sure, let me get you one." Anthony said, opening the fridge. He saw a giant bouquet of blue flowers in the middle, which he thought odd, seeing as the flowers everyone sent her when Ian passed away were dispersed throughout the house. He went to move it aside.

"Be careful with that!" She said quickly, and he jumped and took a step back to the fridge. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Anthony, it's just that Ian gave those to me and I wanted them to last as long as possible. I saw him July fourth, at our block party. He looked horrible, I didn't say anything because I thought it was the low blood pressure."

Anthony nodded, understanding, and pulled out a bottle of wine from the bottom shelf, thinking as he opened it. He used to go to the party every year Ian invited him, since sixth grade. He was waiting for the usual casual invitation from his friend, but when he didn't get one he assumed Ian wasn't feeling well enough to go. That was Monday. The last day he saw him alive.

They drank their wine silently, each in thought, one confused and one shattered. Not wanting to go back to the fun story telling in the living room, Anthony wandered through the house he knew so well, and found the room that he spent so long in. Ian's old bedroom. He stepped in and saw a familiar face instantly, Charlie sitting in his cage on the desk. 

"Hey Charlie!" He smiled, brightened for the first time in days. Charlie stared at him, twitching his nose, and Anthony examined the other areas of the room.

So many memories. They made that stupid battleship video in here, packaged all the fan's T-shirts, bought and assembled a new chair after they destroyed the old one. He sat on the edge of the bed, remembering the old times. The simple times, when he didn't question if Ian loved him as more than a friend. And it turned out he did, the entire time.

Tears fell down his face, but he didn't wipe them, there was no point. He was, and would forever be, completely and utterly alone. He sat on the edge of the bed for the rest of the time the group was there, laughing and drinking in the other room, he not having the strength to join them. When it was late, and the sky behind Ian's curtain appeared purple, Anthony laid down on the bed, curling into a ball and facing the desk. He had long stopped crying, but Ian's absence was prominent, a gaping hole in his life, and that was far more upsetting than tears.

Kalel found him after everyone left, and he got up without looking at her or saying a word. He turned to the door, to leave that frighteningly nostalgic place, when Kalel walked past him. She grabbed the handle to Charlie's cage and picked it up, handing it to him.

"I'm driving, you hold him." She said, making to leave, and he made no move to argue against her. They parted with Cheryl and got into Anthony's car, with Anthony holding Charlie's cage on his lap. As Kalel turned the key and drove away from the home, Anthony stared out the window. But he wasn't looking at the houses and streetlights that they passed, he was thinking, thinking of a time long past.

_He was sitting at the black table he and Ian had just bought, editing a video. It was one of the final new additions to the house, and he felt that they were finally starting to get settled in. Ian was out, after claiming he would finally get a guinea pig, but Anthony didn't believe him, thinking the whole thing was crazy._

_The front door opened, and Anthony looked up to see his best friend holding an opaque plastic container without a lid. He lifted his chin a bit to see what it contained, and as Ian closed the door, a little grey guinea pig peered back at him. His first reaction was to laugh, loud and full with his whole body. He couldn't explain why, just the fact that Ian was standing in front of him with a serious expression and a small pet made him giddy._

_"Laughing at my new friend?" Ian questioned with a smile as he walked over._

_"Dude, I can't believe you actually did it." Anthony answered incredulously, staring at the little grey rodent as he twitched his nose._

_"I said I would, didn't I? I've always wanted a guinea pig." Ian smiled down at it, and Anthony rolled his eyes._

_"Yeah, I know that, you've said so all the time. Can I hold him?" He stroked the creature's head, and it twitched an ear, making him giggle like a child._

_"Sure, then you can set him down on the floor after I grab his stuff. I have to set up the cage." Anthony picked up the pet, a huge grin on his face, and Ian started out the door._

_"And when I'm doing that, you should think of some names, okay? I can't think of one for him." He called out as he walked out the door to his car, where the cage and bedding he just bought were._

_Anthony looked down at the grey guinea pig, who was looking around the room with an expression he could only describe as highly entertained. He still had a wide smile on his face, and he knew he would have one the rest of the day._

Anthony looked down at Charlie in his cage, illuminated by the occasional passing streetlight. He was holding back tears.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kiddos, I want to talk to you guys for a second. If you've ever lost someone and gone to their funeral, I know that can be hard. And I know I'm not personally fond of funerals as a way of coping with loss and accepting the death of a loved one. So please, my dears, never feel a need to get better after the funeral comes and goes. You are allowed to continue mourning, you are allowed to feel like things are unfinished. Don't worry about any pressure to swallow your pain, take your own time to deal with things. Talk to your family, friends, a guidance counselor, a therapist, write it out on paper or in a blog, do whatever you need to do. Love you guys :))


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony starts having nightmares.

_He was in his basement, a dank and miserable place. The walls and floors were concrete, and the ceiling was a mess of pipes and wires. He was standing near a hanging lightbulb, the only light in the room, examining a pipe. He remembered that this pipe had leaked some time ago, and it cost a hefty amount of money from a plumber to fix it._

_"Creepy down here." A familiar voice said behind him, and he turned to see a sorely missed smile._

_"Ian." Anthony replied, confused. He took a step forward, not feeling panic or fear or relief, only that confusion. "You're alive?"_

_"Of course I'm alive! Man, I can't believe you fell for it." The smile slipped from his face, and he voiced the words in a soft tone, as if worried, or disappointed._

_"What do you mean? Was this all a dream?" Anthony hesitated._

_"A prank. A practical joke. We didn't think you'd believe it, or get so upset over it." Ian took a step closer to him, but was still distant._

_"A prank?" Anthony echoed the phrase, not sure if he believed it._

_"Yeah, Ant, that's all it was. All it ever was. I'm alive." He assured him, but Anthony wasn't certain. Confusion still clouded his head when he looked at his friend, but he did look the same. Light tan, slight blush, brown hair, brilliant blue eyes that he secretly envied. Ian Hecox appeared to be standing in front of him._

_"The cancer, the hospital, your mom, that was all a lie?" Anthony asked, incredulous yet hopeful._

_"All of it. Everyone was in on it, even Kalel." Ian answered quietly._

_"The note." Anthony stated, his tone begging for an explanation. "That letter you wrote me. You said . . . was it true?"_

_"What do you think?" Ian questioned back, lifting an eyebrow._

_"Say it. Ian, say it. What you wrote, then I can tell." Anthony demanded nervously._

_"Do you really want me to say it? The words on that paper? D'you think that if I say it out loud, you'll be able to tell if it's the truth or not?" Ian smirked, and Anthony felt a twist in the bottom of his stomach._

_"I know you. I know when you're lying." Anthony retorted, stronger now._

_"We both know that's not true." Ian spat quickly, then drew back. His body became less tense, and he smiled a little. "But I suppose if you want me to, I will. Anthony, I'm in lo-”_

Anthony woke up with a gasp, eyes snapping open. It was daytime, and the room was already warm and sunny. He sat up quickly, tangled in his sheets, covered in the light sweat that came to him every Summer night. Kalel walked into the room, already dressed, and looked him over in slight concern, but decided not to question him.

"Sweetheart? You need to shower and go to Ian's will reading." She reminded him as she went to the closet, rustling the hangers in search of an article of clothing.

"Ian's what? I was there when he made it." Anthony began to recall the day, then forced himself not to think of it, too haunted by the memories.

"I know, but you need to go anyway. It was important to him, wasn't it?" She pulled out a dress and examined it.

"What makes you say that?" He questions as he stands, stretching.

"He knew he was dying, he made a will. It's his last direct impact on the Earth, he must've known that." She said to him as she left the room, dress in hand. 

Anthony sighed, then stood and stretched, his day already ruined. He went to take his shower, wondering what his nightmare meant. In the basement, with Ian, alive but different. Almost taunting. A part of him almost wished it was real, that what Ian did really was just a prank gone too far. But no. He was dead, truly dead, and Anthony was still alone.

***

The will reading was held in the same office Anthony had sat in back in March, when Ian asked him to witness it. He remembered how worried he was that day, how upset he was at the very notion of Ian dying. Ian knew, he knew then, that he was dying, and he couldn't even tell Anthony, he had to lie, and that tore Anthony apart, that his friend could lie like that.

He shook Ian from his thoughts, a difficult task seeing the situation he was in, and looked around the small, professional office. Cheryl sat on his right, and further over sat a tall black man that Anthony didn't recognize. In the desk in front of them, scanning the will, was Ian's lawyer when he was alive, Fahad Chowdhury. 

"Well, we are gathered here today to read the last will and testament of Mr. Ian Hecox. Let us note the time, eleven a.m, and the date, July thirteenth. Are we all ready to proceed?" Mr. Chowdhury looked at them all, and when they nodded, he continued. "Very well, I'll begin.

"Final will and testament of Ian Hecox, written Saturday, the tenth of March, 2012, witnessed by Anthony Padilla. I, Ian Hecox of 701 Oakwood Avenue, Sacramento, California, declare this to be my last will and testament."

He read the will aloud, calm with an even, professional tone, but Anthony could barely listen. He'd helped Ian write the damn thing, he didn't want it recited to him. Only the basic details came through the wall Anthony built between himself and the words; Smosh going to him, Ian's mother getting the house and some money, and some to the local church (at this point, Anthony discovered the man was a Deacon named Tim Franklin). When the will reading was finished, all parties said goodbye to the lawyer, leaving the dim, cool office to the heat of the outside world. It was there, in the parking lot, that they spoke to each other for the first time that day.

"Thank you for coming, Anthony. I'm sure it would've meant a lot to him." Cheryl said, teary eyed. She'd been nearly permanently so ever since the eighth, when he died, a thought that instantly tormented Anthony, hating seeing her so upset.

"It's no problem, Cheryl. How are you?" He was genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine." She replied, although they all knew it was a lie. "I just need to go home and rest. My daughter's staying with me a few days."

"Good, I'm glad someone's there for you. Call me if you need anything." He insisted as she began to walk to her car.

"Thank you, sweetie, I will." She gave a small smile and turned to Deacon Franklin. "Oh, and I won't forget about the service tomorrow."

"I'll see you there." He said, the first words Anthony had heard from him, and his voice was deep and oddly relaxing. "My church is having a memorial service for Ian. He was very kind to us, and gave us a lot of donations that we're all very grateful for."

"That's cool." Anthony nodded, but shuffled, thoughts clouding his head. "He . . . I never knew he was religious." 

Religion was a rare discussion between them, only mentioned one time he could recall, back in junior year. They were smoking in Anthony's room (they only did so occasionally, for recreation) and Anthony had asked him if he believed in God. He'd never forget the answer. _I don't know_ , Ian had said. _Maybe there's God, or gods, or a force. Maybe there's nothing. But whatever's out there, I just hope it's good to us._ Anthony thought of those words at least once a week, not in attempt to remember, but because he thought Ian's hopes had come true. He thought they would be okay. But one's dead and another's stuck, something which told the young man that God, or whatever was out there, wasn't good to them at all.

"He never mentioned if he was. He only came in to donate. That's not very common with us." He smiled a little, and Anthony could tell he was fond of Ian, respectful. God, how many secrets did Ian have? 

"The memorial service is tomorrow at noon. Will you come?" Franklin asked him respectfully.

"Erm . . ." Anthony shuffled with discomfort once more. "I'm not the religious type."

"It's not just for Baptists, Mr. Padilla." He assured him. "It's in honor of Ian."

"Yeah, thanks, I'll think about it." He nodded, and they separated.

***

His unhappiness hung over him like a cloud, trapped in his car with him then following him into his home. Kalel greeted him, and he ignored her, going to the computer (that Charlie's cage now sat next to) to view his source of distraction, the tribute video for Ian that they posted earlier in the day. Some other member of the Smosh team had made it, seeing as Anthony had just lost his best friend, and a part of him dreaded viewing it. Every reminder of his friend tore at him, slowly stinging at the very fiber of his being.

The video was a lot of old clips and many new ones. The music in the background was sad and slow, a tune that Anthony recognized, but couldn't name. The first few seconds made him nostalgic, seeing the old bowl haircut and cheap camera. Moments from their Pokemon video, the battleship video, the model airplane video, and their other old classics flashed on the screen, containing a younger, smiling Ian. It went in order, slowly showing him age. The first Lunchtime With Smosh. The Food Battle where he lacked his signature haircut. An image of him laughing with Anthony, another of him chatting with his mom. The beautiful years of youth.

Then the video changed, in a way that terrified Anthony more than anything he'd ever experienced, and ever would. Because it was a video of Ian growing up, of him being stronger, healthier, then suddenly, more pale, thin. The moments of him smiling and laughing showed him grow more and more thin, his hair becoming dull, the sparkle fading from his eyes. The cancer taking over his body. The video ended with a 'Rest In Peace, Ian Hecox: 30 November, 1987, to 8 July, 2012' with a slow fade to black on an image of he and Anthony smiling. 

What terrified him wasn't all seeing him that way, cold and breaking. No, what really terrified him was the fact that he didn't notice. That he looked at his friend every week, for months, and all he thought was 'low blood pressure.' That he believed the awful lie Ian told him.

He paused the video on one of the final seconds, staring at Ian's sickly face frozen in a half smile. When he dreamed of Ian that morning, he didn't look like this, like a dead man. He looked how Ian always looked, or how he thought he always looked. It occurred to Anthony that maybe he was so used to Ian always being okay that he couldn't notice when something was extremely wrong. _I did the best I could, but I was blinded, because I was in love._ That was what Ian's letter said. Could he himself be dealing with the same?

A sudden rush of anger rose over him, hatred coursing through his veins. Ian knew he was dying, and didn't tell him, and then he left that letter, that burden. He should've told him that he had cancer the second he found out, should've prepared him for this. He didn't get to say goodbye, didn't warn the fans, didn't apologize to Mel or their mom. Ian betrayed him, abandoned him, and played with his heart, and Anthony hated him for it. He loathed him for the lies he told, the truths he kept to himself and the ones he confessed when he was inches from death. This was not a true friend.

He heard footsteps as Kalel walked in behind him, then stopped upon seeing him staring at Ian's frozen face, shaking with what she thought to be despair, not anger.

"Babe . . ." She began, taking a few steps forward. "It's okay. He loved you."

"That's the problem." He muttered, shutting off the computer. "A problem he couldn't admit to until he was fucking dead."

Kalel looked nervous, hesitating before replying. "He was only human-"

"Was he? Was what he did human to you?" He turned his chair around, staring at her, his voice growing louder. "He got cancer, kept it a secret, then left me his mess to deal with when he was gone! And he had to write me that sick letter just to fuck with my head!"

"Honey, that's not why he-"

"How the fuck would you know, Kristen?" He stood as he yelled, and she took a step back, alarmed. "You didn't know him!"

"Well clearly neither did you!" She shouted in reply, then immediately looked as though she regretted it. She took a few steps back, and he stared at her, breathing heavily.

"I guess you're right about that." He said finally, and walked past her, slamming the door to their bedroom. He remained there for hours, curled under his sheets, the heat of the day no longer an issue to him. When the sun was starting to get low in the sky, Kalel opened the door cautiously.

"Coming for dinner?" He heard her ask quietly, but he didn't move. 

After a moment, she slowly retreated back to the dining room, and an ounce of guilt set into his skin. He stood, stretched, and joined her wordlessly for pasta. They didn't speak, only eating their little meal in a tense silence, then washing the dishes together the same way. When the clean up was done, he turned and stared at her, and when she sighed, he motioned to her.

Anthony pulled her into a hug, not as tight as the usual ones, but she hugged him far tighter than she normally did.

"Let's just go to bed, okay?" She murmured into his ear, pity in her voice, and Anthony had to push down the anger that it brought.

"Sure." He replied, letting go of her, but she stayed close to him a moment longer.

"D'you want to . . ." She pulled back and lifted an eyebrow, and Anthony knew what she was suggesting, but he shook his head.

"I'm tired." He answered the unfinished question, and as she led him back to their room, he had to admit that was true. But he couldn't tell if he was tired of her, tired of being sad, or just tired of living without Ian. One thing was certain; he knew one could die of exhaustion, and he could feel it looming over him as he shut his eyes to sleep.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony is angry

A call from Drew early in the morning prompted Anthony to leave his usual spot prior to noon as of late, his bed, and forced him to the Smosh headquarters. Drew told him there was an emergency meeting going on, with every member of the cast and crew, and it was important that he be there. So, at quarter to nine on a Saturday morning, Anthony sat in the air conditioned office with close to forty others, tired, irritated, and admittedly a little impressed. It was very rare that he saw so many people from his team together at once, from the camera men to the writers to the small time actors. Even Mari was there, chatting amicably after giving Anthony a sad hello and a bit too much pity.

"Okay, everyone, thanks for all being here." Mr. Morgan, looking out of place in his suit and tie, stood and said to them all. "Now, as we're all aware, we recently lost a dear friend, Ian."

Anthony looked at the floor as he felt everyone's eyes dart to him, uncomfortable.

"And though we all miss him and mourn his absence, we need to decide what's going to happen to this company now. What we'll be doing about videos, new actors, and so on. I don't feel the need to determine the permanent future of the company today, but for now I think we should make some temporary decisions regarding the videos." Mr. Morgan ended his little speech, and Brendan, another member of the team, joined in.

"Well said, Morgan. But I think the main question here, the big bad one, is this: what about the Ianh channel?" He looked around the room, and the others shrugged and whispered amongst themselves. "Seriously, we need to find a way to respect Ian and keep putting out new content. So do we do the old stuff, or replace the channel?"

"Where will I go if there's no Ianh?" Mari piped up. 

"Maybe we should move Smosh Pit Weekly to the main channel." Brendan suggested, and a couple others nodded.

"Or make a new second channel." Will joined in. "Maybe with more than just Mari. We can afford to do some hiring."

"But who would subscribe? Only die-hard fans would unsubscribe to one second channel just to subscribe to another." Daniel pointed out. "And there's the issue of replacing Mail-time and Lunchtime."

"Repla-" Anthony started to ask, then fell silent. He'd forgotten that because Ian was dead, there could never be another video like those. It seemed like every day since he lost Ian, he lost something else, as though his friend was the start of his own doom.

"I have a suggestion." Mari cleared her throat after a moment of rough silence, moving the looks of pity away from Anthony. "Keep the Ianh channel."

"That's a terrible idea." Anthony said, annoyed, but didn't look up at her.

"I kind of like it, actually." Drew shrugged. "It's like, in honor him. Respectful."

"Respectful? How the hell is that respectful? He's gone, why would we keep his damn channel?" Anthony asked, on edge, and Drew moved back slightly. Peter cut in at this.

"Because he wanted Smosh to keep going. And could you imagine him watching us right now? He'd love the thought of us keeping it, like keeping a bit of him around. He may be gone, but we can't just erase him; he founded this company with you, Anthony, and removing his memory isn't the way to commemorate his achievements." Peter finished, and the room went silent. Anthony didn't retort, but he sat back in his chair, arms crossed, not completely satisfied.

"So it's decided. We're keeping Ianh." Jess said, looking around, and a large amount of them nodded, some even producing small smiles. "Now we have to figure out Mondays and Thursdays."

"Mari, are you willing to do some extra work?" Mr. Morgan asked, and she nodded. "Good. I think you should take over those two days for now, maybe with another youtuber."

"The entire community has reached out to us offering to help." Will said. "We can easily get someone to do some videos with you, Mari."

"That sounds good." Mari nodded. "Higa's close by."

"So is Shay. We could easily figure out alternate videos for the time being." Brendan added.

"Great. We'll give Higa a call and come in tomorrow to do some filming, stay up late editing, and release a Monday vid." Drew clapped his hands in finality, but Anthony, appalled, continued the conversation.

"Wait, what?" Were the only words he could muster, and he saw them all exchange glances, clearly trying to be gentle with him.

"For now, Ant, you don't have to do any editing, okay, just leave it to us." Drew said at last. "Just come in tomorrow so we can film a quick video for Friday telling about the changes, and ensuring them that . . . that you're okay."

"Friday? We're not releasing a video on Friday, that's way too soon." Anthony argued, instead of saying the 'I'm not okay' that quickly hit his tongue. 

"We just released a Friday video, Anthony." Desi said from the corner.

"A tribute video. To our dead friend, remember?" Anthony's voice was getting louder and he could feel his cheeks growing warm.

"Anthony, Ian was a good friend to all of us." Morgan said, and Anthony wanted to scream at the business man for lying. "But we are a company. If we don't start producing comedy soon, we'll lag behind the competition. So Monday we'll put out a video with Mari, then another Thursday, then a video with you on Friday."

"No." Anthony responded hotly and stood up. "I'm not putting out content this week, especially not on Monday. He hasn't even been gone a week, you ass, I can't just-"

"Anthony, it's okay, you don't have to do anything except some quick filming tomorrow." Mari stood and rushed around the large conference table they sat at, grabbing his arm and leaning in close. "Look, I loved Ian too, and I'm really sad that he's gone, but Morgan's right, we need to release videos."

He sat down, calmer now, and Mari went back to her own chair, the room silent once again. He stared around at them all; writers, actors, camera men, miscellaneous workers. They didn't love Ian like he did, but he couldn't change the minds of so many.

"Fine. I'm not happy with this, but fine." Anthony said to them all. "Good meeting. See you all tomorrow."

He rushed out of the room before they could say another word, fury causing him to nearly shake. He left the office building, trying to control himself as he looked at it, walking to his car. It was big and white, looming like a prison. In a way, it was, because many small time businesses were trapped working there together on different floors, and unfortunately a lot of them were failing. Anthony couldn't help but wonder when Smosh would join them.

***

He was tense his whole journey home, and once he got to his house, he wanted to immediately rush to his bed, knowing that if he had to talk to Kalel, he would scream. Of course, she was in the living room, preparing a cosplay with a half sewn dress and a large box full of buttons.

"Sweetie, how was that meeting?" She asked, looking tired but smiling.

"Fine." He stated bluntly, walking past her and accidentally knocking over her box of buttons. With a multitude of clinking that reminded him of maracas (then an old video, then of course of Ian), hundreds of buttons fell to the floor.

"Anthony!" Kalel blurted out, more surprised than angered. He began to walk away, and she called after him, "Well at least help me pick them up!"

"It's your own damn fault, Kristen. Maybe if you didn't have so much shit out when you're doing this stuff then it wouldn't have made a mess." He turned and said to her, peeved.

"My fault?" She questioned, now a little angry herself. "You're the one who pushed the box. I was gonna help you pick it up, but if you're gonna be a prick-"

"Don't give me your shit right now, okay? You're driving me up the fucking wall." Anthony shook his head and started to walk away again.

"Fuck off, okay? You're just pissy with me because you don't want to think of the problems you're having with Ian." She said honestly, and Anthony had to resist the many conflicting emotions that hit him rather hard.

"Ian's de-" But he couldn't bring himself to say it, so he skipped to a new sentence. "This isn't about Ian. This is about you doing your stupid cosplays in the living room with all this mess." He pointed to the buttons and the dress, then to a tub of Model Magic awaiting use.

"You never minded when he was alive." She said, no longer angry, just saddened. 

"Maybe I've just never mentioned it." He replied, his own voice getting softer.

"Or maybe this isn't about us." She said, taking a step forward.

"You know what? Fuck this. I'm going out." He turned around, too tired to keep fighting with her.

"Out? Where?" She questioned as he opened the front door.

"For a drive. Alone." He slammed the door and returned to his car, seething. He didn't want to be with her when he felt like that, especially if she amplified it.

***

The next few hours he drove quite a distance, spending the whole time thinking. The radio was on a low volume, at first the hardcore metal that he usually listened to, but after awhile of still feeling heated, he fiddled with the dial until he played some soft rock at that same low volume. He drove past the convenience store, then Cheryl's house, then the hospital where Ian died. He didn't dare go to the park they'd visited so often (he hadn't been there since late June, filming with Ian), nor his house or any of their old landmarks.

He eventually found himself at the beach, parked in a crowded lot and walking to the sand as most people walked away. The sun wasn't setting just yet, but it was hanging too low in the sky for tanning, so many beach goers were taking their leave. He took off his sneakers and held them in his hand as he walked down the sandy shore, not exactly sure where he was going. 

When he was in a more deserted area and the freezing water was bumping against his toes, he stood up to his ankles in it, staring at the little sailboats and yachts in the distance. He wondered what on Earth he was doing there, going to a beach to think like some cliché rom-com. His first thought was of Sexy Beatz, one of Smosh's most successful videos of recent years, that featured a song about ukuleles and a possibility of a sequel. He had been planning it out for awhile, thinking it over in his head and jotting down occasional notes. He'd wanted the dramatic finale to occur between his and Ian's characters on this beach, and had even visited it to ask about filming there on the first of the month. Now here he was, half way through that month, and the video he dreamed about could never happen. If only Ian had warned him of that earlier.

The anger he expected to come didn't, and he knew it was just due to his exhaustion. He wanted to hate Ian, to yell until he went blue in the face or slap his friend hard enough to bring him back, but with his drowsiness halting that, he instead waded further into the water until the cold woke him up again, then returned to his car, dripping from the waist down. He drove again, a towel on his seat preventing him from ruining the upholstery. As he went on, with no destination in mind, the sun set, and the first stars began to appear. When he saw a sign saying 'Los Angeles, 200 miles' he turned around, thankful his tired brain even processed it. By the time he had arrived home, it was very late at night.

He walked into the dark house, stumbling his way to the bedroom and into the bathroom, showering off the salt and sand from the beach that had been irritating him so much the last hour getting home. Drying himself and changing into fresh boxers, he left his dirty clothes on the tile and went to bed, barely seeing the lump that was Kalel on her side. As he settled in, she moaned and turned to him.

"Anthony?" Her voice was weighted with sleep.

"Hey babe, I'm sorry about earlier." He said quietly, though he didn't really mean it, only wanting to sleep.

"S'ok." She murmured, turning back over, and presumably falling into sleep right away. 

He turned and faced the other direction, staring at the wall despite being so tired. His last thought for the night was a question, wondering if this was how tired Ian felt when he slipped away.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smosh moves on

It was noon the next day, Sunday, when Anthony found himself back in Smosh headquarters, looking over some lines written for him in the video he was about to film with Mari and Ryan Higa. The space in the office they had to film in was noisy and crowded with people, and though a small part of Anthony wished they could film this little announcement where they always do, Ian's house, a larger part of him was very grateful they weren't doing so, not wanting to feel the painful nostalgia associated with his dead friend's home. Cheryl owned the house now, and Anthony was quite alright avoiding both, as to also avoid bitter emotions.

From his seat at one end of the room, he could see Mari and Ryan, both of whom had gotten there before him, chatting happily and looking over their scripts, laughing together as though they didn't know the serious reason why Ryan had to be there. There was a heavy silence when Anthony walked in half an hour previous, the kind that comes when one interrupts someone talking about him. He chose to ignore it, but he couldn't sit there silently for much longer, wanting to stand up and scream at everyone for not being at all somber. Ian had died a week ago to the date, and here they all were laughing and filming like there wasn't a problem. He hated himself for being there, and he hated everyone else for making him come.

"Anthony, we need you next to Mari and Ryan for this video. You won't be in the other two we're filming today, but you can stick around and watch us film if you like." Peter approached him cautiously, and Anthony nodded and stood with a sigh. He walked over to the pair, and their cheery words faded to silence as he stood between them, facing the camera. He felt Ryan pat him reassuringly on the back, and he thought wistfully of Ian, missing the action Ian had always performed. On the bad days, the lows of his life and their friendship, Ian would squeeze him into a hug, and they would sit together for far too long, with soft spoken words of care. That felt so long ago.

Those thoughts only hurt Anthony now, knowing that he wouldn't get that again, at least not with Ian. And now having the knowledge that Ian loved him, as more than a friend, for the duration of those gentle touches and quiet words, it made something feel off about it. It made him question things he didn't want to question, pushed the calm and certainty from his mind and flooded it with doubt. At every moment he was struggling to build a dam, and keep those thoughts and emotions at bay, but as he built it, it crumbled, until he had nothing but confusing thoughts, conflicting emotions, and an absurd image of a miniature version of himself patching up holes in the Hoover Dam with mounds of chewing gum mixing around in his mind.

"Okay, smiles everyone!" Mr. Morgan calls to the three from the area behind the camera where several people stood, observing. Anthony attempted one, then turned his head and saw his image in the monitor, and noticing his attempt to smile was a grimace, he let his face fall flat, feeling slightly defeated. He saw one of the writers, Megan, give him a slight look of concern, but she said nothing, and they began filming.

"Hey guys, I'm Mari!" Mari nearly yelled, waving with both hands.

"I'm Anthony." Anthony gave a small smile and quick wave.

"And I'm Ryan Higa, who you may know from the youtube channel NigaHiga." Ryan smiled.

"And today we're gonna talk to you about some of the changes we're making to Smosh." Mari added. "We've already released two videos this week on the IanH channel, on Monday and Thursday as they usually are. However, there's been a slight difference that we'll be keeping for awhile."

"I'm no longer part of the videos posted on IanH." Anthony jumped in. "The IanH channel will at this time consist of videos on Monday and Thursday starring Mari and a guest youtuber-"

"Such as myself-" Ryan pointed proudly to his chest.

"Followed by Smosh Pit Weekly on its usual Saturday." Anthony finished.

"Monday videos are probably gonna be the same as the one we released Monday-"

"That we actually haven't filmed yet, so it's a little awkward . . ." Ryan interrupted Mari, and she laughed.

"Yeah, well, we'll get to it. Anyway, Mondays are gonna be movie reviews, a look at the news, and a fun game or two that you guys at home can join in on."

"And Thursdays will be for bonding with the audience with some fun Q and A, Omegle trolling, and a few fun puns." Anthony continued, though not with satisfaction. The thought of never having a Lunchtime again, of never having those moments with Ian again, put a heavy burden on his heart, and for a moment he was lost in what once was.

"This won't be a permanent solution, but for now this is the plan, so we hope you guys enjoy it, because we're trying to honor Ian by keeping this channel, and continuing to produce funny videos for all of our amazing fans. So thank you all so much for your condolences and support, and we hope you have an awesome day!" Mari put her hands up in finality, but Ryan gave her a staged look of confusion.

"Wait, shouldn't we do something funny?" He asked, and Anthony gave him a look of confusion.

"Well, Mari and I can do something funny, and you can stand awkwardly in the background." Anthony suggested.

"Yeah you're not really funny."

"Leave it to the professionals, kid." Anthony told him, pushing him back slightly. Ryan sighed and put on a very convincing look of annoyance.

"Hey Mari, how do you introduce someone to bondage?"

"How, Anthony?"

"You show them the ropes."

"Okay that wasn't tha-" Ryan declared loudly, but Anthony started with a new pun.

"Hey Mari, what do chemists do with dead bodies?"

"What, Anthony?"

"Barium."

"Please, that wasn't even that good-" Ryan called out even louder, and Anthony started with another pun.

"Hey Mari-"

"Okay, I think we're good! We're done! Cut, okay, stop rolling!" Ryan waved his arms and burst out in front of them, storming away, leaving Mari to raise her eyebrows and Anthony to tense his.

"And we're clear, stop rolling." Anthony heard Peter say from behind the camera, and he gratefully stepped away from Mari, wringing his hands. Of course he was using a stupid nervous habit he'd picked up from Ian. He felt sad, warm, and frustrated, barely satisfied that they'd managed to do the whole thing in one shot. Satisfaction would be filming with Ian, something that was then unattainable. 

"Cool, so Anthony you're done for the day, but it'd be awesome if you could stay for awhile to watch Mari and Ryan do their videos." Brandon said to him, and his look was too expectant for Anthony to decline. With a sharp nod, he went to the back of the room and took the seat he held earlier, fingers twisting in his lap as he stared at them.

After a moment or two of setting up, the camera started rolling, and Mari began.

"Hi everyone, so I'm Mari taking over Monday videos-"

"And I'm Ryan, today's amazing guest youtuber!"

"Since the loss of our friend Ian, Smosh is changing a little bit, which Anthony will be explaining in full on Friday, but for now let's get going on our new Monday video, Movie Monday!"

"Otherwise known as Asian Monday." Ryan laughed, and Mari joined in. 

They were all laughter and happiness, but Anthony again has an urge to scream at them. Not only was it too early to make videos, but they weren't taking it seriously. They could've been telling the audience that Ian had a cold, the way they sounded, and Anthony's head ached from the madness of it. Without saying a word or looking at anyone, he stood, head bowed, and walked out of the office, then down the stairs and to his car. When he sat inside, he let out a yell of anger, but stayed his shaking hands and drove home, emotions toying with him every second of the way.

The traffic was awful and it took ages for him to get home, so by the time he pulled into his driveway, he was mentally exhausted from the imagined screaming at every individual he'd ever met, including Ian. The knowledge that he would never see Ian again, that his whole life had been altered because of this one man, was bearing down on him with increasing force every second of the day. He felt like a toothpick in the jaws of his life, about to be splintered in half, with no way of stopping it.

Unbuckling his seatbelt, he looked down at the clock in front of him. 2:05. It was exactly a week ago when he found out Ian had died. With this realization, he burst into an uncontrollable sobbing fit, curled over his steering wheel as his cheeks grew even more red than usual and his tears poured down them. Maybe life had just splintered him.

He sat for too long in that hot car, struggling to breathe between thick, choking sobs. It was around 2:30 when he went inside, ignored Kalel's questioning look, and washed his face, rinsing away his salty tears but not the reasons for them, as he wished he could. After the longest, most painful week of his life, he'd faced more questions, more sadness, and more fear about his future than he ever had, and nothing had been solved, nothing had been answered. He wanted to give up now, say fuck it and just drive until he found a cliff, but he knew he couldn't do that, he knew he had too much to abandon. So he curled up on the couch next to Kalel, and gave a heavy sigh, and they sat that day in silence, both waiting for something to end, neither knowing quite what.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony meets a fan and becomes bummed

Waking up at almost noon was becoming a disgusting habit of his, but since his friend died, Anthony just didn't have the strength to rise earlier. After he showered and used the last of his soap, then went to his fridge and realized they had run out of milk, too. He decided he ought to suck it up, and that he had the strength to go grocery shopping.

With a quickly written list in some rather sloppy handwriting, Anthony went to the local supermarket, with the intent to buy he and Kalel some more necessities before the house became bare of all items. Had he known what he would encounter in said market before going, he would never have parted from his bed.

He stood in the refrigerated section, scanning over the cartons of milk in attempt to remember what kind Kalel told him to get. His shopping cart only had a few things in it, but he was already halfway done. 

"Anthony?" He heard a soft voice, and he turned to see a young girl. Around thirteen, straightened black hair, Smosh shirt, shorts and flip-flops. She was a fan. He suddenly became very aware of his un-straightened hair, stubble that he didn't bother shaving, the dark circles under his eyes, his baggy tee and wrinkled shorts. He cleared his throat and shifted awkwardly, uncomfortable. He loved the fans and owed them everything, but he didn’t think he’d see one so soon after Ian. He couldn’t imagine what she’d say to him.

"I um, I just wanted to say I'm sorry for your loss. Ian." She said quietly, her voice wavering, pity on her face.

"Thank you." He said, his own throat feeling suddenly quite tight. She glanced back to an older woman, likely the mother she was out shopping with. She was dealing with two toddlers and seemed to have her hands full.

"I just wanted you to know how important Smosh is to me. And you and Ian. Seeing you guys together, acting like brothers, that meant so much to me." Her voice broke and she took in a shaky breath, visibly attempting to calm herself. "I have two brothers, and they're both younger than me, but I hope one day I have a relationship with them like you have -- had with Ian."

"Uh, thank -- thanks." Anthony tried for a smile, but it came as a grimace, and he sighed and tried to say something kind. "That means a lot to me, and it -- it would for Ian, too."

He felt like his throat had swollen up like crazy, and he could feel that his face was bright red and his nose was starting to run. He could vaguely sense that something was about to go very wrong.

"He always wanted to touch people like that, even -- even if it was just through comedy-" A tear fell down his cheek and he wiped it, more pity forming on the girl's face. "Sorry." He slurred out the word, and she shook her head, her own eyes getting watery. 

"I'm sorry." He said again, choked up and more tears falling, and he put his hand over his mouth to stifle a sob. The girl took a few steps towards him and put a hand on his forearm, and he turned his head away from her, shoulders shaking as he cried quietly. Shame rolled thick in his gut and made him feel sickly and embarrassed.

"It's okay, Anthony." She said softly, her voice gone a little nasal. "It'll be okay."

"Ashley, what on Earth are you doing?" Anthony suddenly heard the voice of an older woman, and he turned and wiped him face, sniffling feebly. "What's going on here?" She demanded, sounding alarmed.

"No, mom, this is Anthony Padilla, from Smosh." The daughter, Ashley, said, and realization dawned on her mother's face, followed by a second, sadder wave of realization a moment later. Pity formed on her face as well.

"We're sorry for your loss, Mr. Padilla. I apologize if my daughter troubled you."

Anthony shook his head and swallowed, trying to respond, but he couldn't get the words out.

"We have to get going. Have a nice day." She said, pulling her daughter away. Ashley gave him one final pitying gaze before returning to her mother's shopping cart and her two brothers. Anthony watched her pull one into an embrace, and he sucked in a deep breath, staring down at his cart. It seemed meaningless now, all that stuff, and he was aware of his red face and tears. He took one more quick look at the small family, now walking away, and abandoned his cart, rushing out of the store without buying anything.

He didn't think of much on his car ride home, his mind mostly blank. He did think of the tears he'd shed, and had to suffer a few moments of shame and anger, at both himself and that girl. He knew that moment would end up on the internet somewhere, becoming a permanent source of mortification.

Kalel wasn't home when he pulled into the garage, which gave him a bit of relief knowing that he didn't immediatelyhave to be yelled at for not buying the groceries. He sat down in front of his computer and went slightly reluctantly to the Ianh channel, knowing Mari and Ryan had released a video and he needed to at least look at it. 

"Hi everyone, so I'm Mari taking over Monday videos-"

"And I'm Ryan, today's amazing guest Youtuber!"

"Since the loss of our friend Ian, Smosh is changing a little bit, which Anthony will be explaining in full on Friday, but for now let's get going on our new Monday video, Movie Monday!"

"Otherwise known as Asian Monday."

He heard them laugh and he scrolled down, not wanting to look at them any longer. The comments, however, didn't make him feel any better. They were all angry, no, furious, that the channel was still being used, and so soon after Ian's death. It was only eight days, and here they were moving on. 

He looked at the top rated comments. 'Are you kidding, using this channel already? He died a week ago, douchebags. I can't believe this company is using this channel at all, let alone so quickly. I hope Anthony wasn't a part of this decision, you capitalist pigs.'

His surprise at the good grammar of the comment was far overshadowed by his anger. But he wasn't angry at the commenter, he was angry at himself, because it was true. They should've waited, hell, they should've never used the channel again to begin with. He himself should have stopped them all from having that meeting and kicked them all out, put the whole thing on a five year hiatus and then sell it. He hated himself and anyone involved with Smosh, including the fans who made him feel so awful and Ian for starting all the shit he did.

His anger was interrupted by the unexpected ring of the doorbell, and he made an attempt to calm himself before getting up and walking to the door. Expecting someone handing out pamphlets for a politician, or maybe one of Jehovah's Witnesses, he was unpleasantly surprised at the face he saw when he opened the door.

"Good afternoon, Anthony." Greeted the old man, and Anthony instantly knew who he was; Kris Rosenthal, Ian's therapist. He'd met him at the funeral, but only for a moment, and they didn't exactly get along.

"Um, hey. What are you -- how did you get this address?" Anthony questioned, confused.

"Mrs. Hecox gave it to me. I'd love to explain it to you inside." Kris responded charmingly, though Anthony thought he looked a bit odd with his intelligent face and his Hawaiian print shirt. Anger not forgotten, he let the elder man in, who entered graciously and stood in the hallway, smiling politely at the man who let him in.

"Um, please, sit." Anthony pointed to one of the chairs at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, and Kris thanked him and obliged. Pulling up a chair himself, Anthony asked, "So . . . what brings you here, Kris?"

"Well, at the funeral Ian's mother was kind enough to give me her phone number. I called her up yesterday and she invited me over for some tea. I was checking in on her to see how she was coping with her loss, and she mentioned that you don't seem to be doing so well."

"Really." Anthony said, tone flat with displeasure. 

"Unfortunately. I just wanted to see how you were doing, Anthony, and see if I could offer any assistance." Kris' voice was pure and genuine, but in his anger, Anthony didn't hear it. 

"You wanted to offer some therapy sessions so you can get a few bucks." Anthony muttered through gritted teeth. He heard the old man sigh.

"Son-" 

"No. Do not call me your son. Don't call me your boy, in fact don't call me anything." Anthony seethed. "I'm none of that to you."

"I apologize, Anthony. Would you let me explain myself?" Kris asked, and Anthony nodded begrudgingly. "Alright. Ian and I bonded quite a bit in therapy, and he told me a lot about you and his mother. I wanted to take a day today to see how you both are. It was obvious how much he cared for you, and with the amount I cared for him, I must care for the two of you as well."

"If Ian cared about me as much as you think he did, then we wouldn't have met at his goddamn funeral." Anthony retorted. "He would've told me about the cancer, about the therapy, about-" he stopped short, not wanting to say the next words aloud. To his knowledge, the only other person who knew was Kalel, and that was because she read the letter, too.

"About what, Anthony? About what he felt for you?" Kris asked, and Anthony had that feeling again of being studied. "It was very hard for him to deal with."

"But you knew about it, and I didn't. You're just some old man, I was his best friend, he should've talked to me! He should've told me!" Anthony was starting to yell, his fury getting out of control.

"I cannot control the thoughts and actions of my patients, Anthony." Kris replied calmly. "My job was to ensure Ian's mental status was ideal during his time of need. I think I did decently."

"What the hell is wrong with you? How can you just sit here and defend yourself like that? How can you defend him? He had such little time left and he ruined it, he ruined us! He did it with his sickness and his secrets and loving me and telling me! He did it with that goddamned note, that note destroyed me! He was an idiot, and you're an old fool for caring!" Anthony yelled, and Kris' face became downcast, the complete opposite of the weather that day and his vibrant printed shirt.

"I understand why you're angry, Anthony, but I feel I can be of no use to you when you're acting this way." He stood, took his wallet from his trousers, and removed a piece of paper from it, placing it on the counter. "Here's my card. Call me when you're up to it and we'll have a talk. About whatever you need to talk about."

He parted without another word, Anthony still breathing heavily. He felt a drip of sweat slide down the side of his face, and he was suddenly aware of how hot he felt. Sweat was sticking his skin to his shirt, and his hair was curling intensely because of the heat. Overall he looked like crap, and felt even worse, almost ill with rage. He grabbed the card, wanting to throw it away, but guilt forced him to go to his bedroom and toss it into the drawer of his nightstand. He peeled off his damp shirt and plopped down on the edge of his bed, trying to breathe deeply and evenly, then let the weight of what he'd done sink in.

He just yelled at an old man. A stranger. And he didn't even know if the poor fellow deserved it. He was angry, yes, over everything that had occurred, but he knew screaming at Rosenthal didn't fix anything. He still felt a stubborn tug in his stomach, though, and instead of using as much logic as he could, or maybe calling someone to talk it out, he sat in pained silence, until he heard the door open and Kalel's kitten heels tap the floor. He listened to her greet Kabuki as she walked back through the house, then finally found him, sitting hunched over on their bed.

"Babe? You okay?" She stepped forward cautiously.

"Yeah." He lied, not looking at her.

"What's wrong?" She sat beside him, loosening the strap on one of her shoes. She looked at him expectantly, and he felt his face grow red.

"I didn't get the groceries." He mumbled, and could see her eyebrows tense.

"Why?" She asked softly.

"There was this girl at the store, this fan . . ." He could already feel the tears threatening to spill over. "She talked to me and I started sobbing, and now everyone's mad because we fucked up with the new video, and Ian's therapist thinks I'm insane." He put his hands over his face and stifled a sob, and she put her arms around him, gently rubbing his shoulders. 

"Everything's gonna be okay, Ant." She whispered, Ian's old nickname for him hanging in the air. Anthony no longer held back his sobs, shaking and shouting into his palms, and for a very long time they sat wordless in the heat and pain of change.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony returns to the Smosh house for the first time since Ian's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do either of the boys live at the smosh house? nope! did ian live there in 2012 when this story takes place? probably not! oh well!

His day started with a phone call. One he really didn't like. Kalel handed him the phone, and he took it begrudgingly, already in a sour mood despite just waking up. 

"Hello?" He spoke into the receiver, his voice low and gruff, weighed with drowsiness. 

"Anthony dear, it's me, Cheryl." He sighed. Ian's mom, probably checking in on him.

"Morning Cheryl. How are you?" He sat up, running a hand through his curly hair.

"I'm well, thank you. Listen, the reason I called you is because I'm going over to Ian's house today. I'm cleaning it out and selling it and I thought you'd like to come with me." She explained in a gentle tone, but his stomach dropped with unease. 

"Cheryl, I-"

"Please, Anthony, I've only been in there a few times with my daughter, I can't stand the thought of going in alone." Cheryl pleaded, and for the first time Anthony heard the old age in her voice. Guilt settled over him, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Yeah, Cheryl, of course. I'll meet you there in an hour." Anthony hung up his phone and climbed out of bed, tangled in the sheets he was sweating in.

"Where are you meeting her?" Asked Kalel from the doorway, and he drew a long breath before responding. 

"Ian's place." Without looking her in the eye, he went into the bathroom to take a shower, not looking forward to what was to come.

***

When he turned onto Brookside Drive, he felt like his chest was going to collapse into itself. He was nervous to go back, at the house where he'd lived with Ian for so long. The place held so many memories; good ones for him, and bad ones for Ian, memories unknown to him consisting of cancer and pain. He turned onto Ian's street and sucked in his breath at the familiar sight, looking the same as it always did.

Finally, he parked in the driveway of 701 Oakwood Avenue, seeing Cheryl's car already resting there. Wiping the sweat off his brow, he got out of his car, staring up at the house. It looked the same as it did any other cloudy day, but it felt so different. It seemed as though he hadn't been there in months, but in reality he had gone just two weeks and a day ago, the last time he saw Ian alive. See you later, he had said.

He walked up to the front door, then paused, wondering whether or not to knock. Wasn't this once his house, too? Gathering his strength, he walked in, calling out to Cheryl as he did.

"I'm in here, Anthony!" She responded from the living room, but as he walked further in to find her, he noticed how off the place felt. After a moment of not being able to place it, he looked down at his shoes, and realized he was stepping on a new carpet.

"Is this a new carpet?" He asked, and the polite smile that had been on Cheryl's face faded away.

"Yes, well, I had to get it replaced after Ian -- after Ian passed away." She looked quickly at a spot in the hallway. "There was too much blood, I couldn't stand looking at it."

Anthony looked at the spot too, not ten feet away from where Ian had fainted that one awful day in May. Blood from stomach cancer? What was he doing, throwing it up? A sudden wave of nausea hit him and he sat down in the black chair that Ian usually occupied during Lunch Time. Looking around, he pieced together that all the furniture had been moved back to their original spots after the carpet was changed, but all an inch or two away, so the whole house felt unbalanced to anyone who knew it well.

“What do you think it was like? His last time in here?” He realized immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Cheryl looked wildly distraught for a moment, then bit her lower lip and knitted her brow. But she spoke again before he had the chance to blurt out an apology.

“Well . . . The doctor said he woke up, went to the bathroom, threw up quite a bit.” She looked at the ground, her eyes going red. “Then he came out here and fell. He called for an ambulance and moved in and out of consciousness and vomited blood for awhile until they took him away.”

He only stared at her, his disgust obvious and the air around them tense.

“But they gave him medicine in the hospital, so Doctor Marrow said he wasn’t in too much pain when he passed.” She sniffled. “Anyway, we’ve been cleaning the place out. Carpet was the first to go.”

“Oh.” Was all Anthony could muster, and they stood in pained silence.

“Anyway.” She said again, and cleared her throat. "I'm going to sell the furniture and big pieces in the auction, dear, but the smaller things we don't want are going to that nice church Ian was going to. According to that lovely Deacon Franklin, he was donating things all the time."

"So you just want me to-"

"Just decide what you would like to keep and take it dear." She walked towards Ian's room, then paused. "You should start with the prop room and go on to the office after that."

He nodded solemnly and followed her down the hall, then as she entered Ian's room, stopped and peered into the bathroom. There were spots of blood, dried brown, at the toilet, and some scattered across the floor. Ian really had been throwing it up. He felt his stomach churn and walked down the hall not to the prop room, as suggested, but to his own room, where he immediately sat down on his bed.

He didn’t know what kind of pain Ian was in. And now, learning it, he felt guilty to admit his first feeling wasn’t sorrow. If only the idiot had just reached out and told him the truth. He thought of the blood dripping down Ian’s chin, thought of his pale face and the purple beneath his eyes. He sighed and put his head in his hands as he fought an urge to gag. He was angry at the poor fool, and felt uneasy as he wiped his unexpectedly wet eyes. Thankful that Cheryl was in the next room, he stood up and looked around.

The room was normal and plain as usual, with little trinkets on shelves and desks and clothes in the drawers and closet. He rifled through it all in silence, trying to keep Ian out of his head as he pulled Smosh shirts he wanted from the dressers and coats from the closet. As he folded them all he ignored his shaking hands and heavy breathing. 

He walked out to put the clothes in his car and slowed to peek into Ian’s room. Cheryl was sat alone on his bed, stuffing shirts into a garbage bag with the same stressed silence that he had. She looked up suddenly, and he felt awkward for a fraction of a second at being caught looking, but she gave him a soft smile.

“I’m donating it, not throwing it away.”She said, and Anthony nodded slowly.

“I can do the same with the stuff in my room if you want.” Anthony said, but she shook her head as he spoke.

“No, that’s not necessary. Just take what you need.” 

He nodded and walked out to his car without another word. Clouds were starting to form, and the chill in the air gave him goosebumps. He rushed back in and sat back at his bed, and his hands shook even more as he felt his face heat up. He felt horrible and woozy and like he didn’t belong there anymore. Like he was just intruding. And what a wretched thing to feel, like an intruder in a room he used to call his own, in a friendship he used to adore.

The tears started to fall and he started to get used to them. He took shuttering, shaking breaths and sat with his knees pulled up to his head. It had been a long time since he’d felt so bad. 

After a few minutes of silence with himself, Anthony wiped his face and took deep breaths. He didn’t want Cheryl to catch him like this, he would be wildly embarrassed. He wouldn’t even be able to articulate why he felt the way he did. All the anger and resentment and sadness in him couldn’t be expressed, not in any healthy way, not at that moment. He calmed himself and looked around the room, then realized he didn’t want anything else from there, not a damn thing that could remind him of what once was.

He continued to the prop room, looking around at all the bins full of colorful costumes and toys. He figured they would need the props for Smosh, but a large part of him wanted to set the room on fire and walk away forever, hating the reminder of all he had to do now without Ian by his side. Noticing there was already a box of black garbage bags there, he pulled one out, opened it up, and looked through the bins for props he needed.

He remembered coming in one day to a drastically cleaner prop room, the bins actually being used and everything sorted and labeled. He had thought then that it was just Ian growing up, but now he realized too late that Ian was cleaning up, preparing for death. As he tried to figure out what he needed and what must go, he found that Ian had done that too, thrown away anything unnecessary. He felt something tug at his insides as he questioned if Ian had partially done the same to him.

He quickly stuffed all of the props into bags, then dragged them to his car. Coming back, he entered the office where the computer, desk, and safe were, looking tidy. Slowing himself, he leaned over the computer and looked at all the little sticky notes, adorned with passwords written in Ian's sloppy handwriting. Glancing over at the safe, he reached over and hesitated trying to remember the combination. Finally, typing in his own birthday, he opened the safe. Ian always told him he was bad with numbers, so he put in his birthday so he wouldn't forget. Or maybe he just wanted an excuse to think of Anthony. He quickly pushed that thought aside.

Opening it, he pulled out the first thing that caught his eye, an old watch. He studied it for a moment before placing it on the desk, then sifted through the other papers. Filming permit, deed to the house, security pins, Ian's birth certificate. With a shaking hand, he found Ian's will, and he picked it up, scanning the pages and recalling how awful he'd felt at even the thought of Ian's eventual death. 'Anything you want from the house, unless my mom asks you not to take it.' 

He didn't want anything from this house. If it could give him his friend back, he would take that, but nothing else.

"Oh, good, you know the password." He heard from the doorway, and he dropped the will as Cheryl walked in. She looked over the papers nonchalantly. 

"There's more files in the desk drawers, I think you may need them for Smosh. Oh, my grandfather's watch, I knew he had this." She picked up the old watch Anthony had set aside. "He never cared much about family history. Poor dear." She looked distant for a moment, and rather sad, and then said to him, "Is there anything you need from your room, or maybe Ian's?"

"No, no." Anthony replied quickly, still feeling haggard. "Just sell it all, throw it away, I don't really care."

And in a way he didn’t. He was too tired to care. She nodded but said nothing, then slowly walked away. Anthony sighed, then took everything out of the desk that pertained to Smosh and put it in his car. He really just wanted to drive off, though of course he knew he couldn’t.

 Not wanting to go anywhere near Ian's room, he went to the hall closet, planning to leave right after he was done checking it. He felt miserable and alone, the loss of Ian and his presence in the house making him weary. 

The only things in the closet were two jackets, an umbrella, three pairs of shoes, and a folded pile of clothing on the floor. Getting on his knees, he read the note that sat on top: _Anthony, you left some clothes and shoes behind. They're clean and folded -- Ian._

He suddenly grew hot with anger staring at the little pile, and in said anger crumpled his note and stood.

"Fuck this. Fuck all of this!" He yelled, throwing the paper to the ground, and Cheryl rushed in, a look of concern on her face.

"What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What do you think is wrong, Cheryl? Do you not see this situation, do you not see where we are?" He pointed around the room. "Your son, my best friend, is dead, and we have to clean up his mess and ignore the fact that he knew what was coming! He knew, Cheryl, and he didn't tell us! Two shitty notes, that's all I got! I didn't want my last message from him to be here are your goddamn shoes!"

As he yelled, Cheryl's face changed from concern, then to fear, then to sadness, but for some reason, he couldn't quite feel guilty. Temporarily, she was just there, not all the way at the point of being a human being, not hurting like he was.

"I didn't deserve this, I didn't deserve any of this! He should've told us, that idiot, he should've told us so much sooner! He shouldn't have lied and told you he was going to live, he shouldn't have written me that note saying he was in lo-" He hesitated and decided not to discuss that -- thus far he hadn't with anyone but Kris, and he wouldn't quite call that a discussion. "He shouldn't have done this to us, we're his family and he tore it all apart and threw it in the shit!" 

He realized then that there were tears streaming down Cheryl's still stoic face, and he halted his words, the thought of harming her making his stomach churn slightly, though not as much as it once would have.

"I know this is hard, Anthony. I know his actions didn't seem to make much sense. But I understand." She looked so strong for someone so weak, and that put him off for a moment.

"Well I don't." He responded simply, and lowered his head.

_"Anthony, stop being so picky, Jesus, this is the eighth place we've been to." Ian rolled his eyes at his friend, who was squinting as he inspected the house they were standing in front of._

_"Dude, we're going to be living somewhere together for the next few years. Do you want to accidentally pick a shit-hole?" He stepped in front of Ian and pulled the key the landlord gave them from his pocket._

_"Let's just hope this is a good one, okay? It's a good price." Ian said, though he actually sounded a bit nervous. The prospect of buying a house, filling out paperwork, having a landlord, it all sounded like growing up, and it created a dull yet constant terror brewing in the bottom of their stomachs._

_They opened the door and went inside, checking the place out._

_"Nice kitchen." Anthony noted._

_"We don't cook." Ian pointed out, and Anthony smiled. "Are you liking this giant mirror?" He pointed to the mirror on the wall and made a funny face at it._

_"Hella." Anthony answered, making a tough sort of face and joining Ian in making foolish faces for the next few minutes. Laughing rather hard following that, they explored the rest of the house, their moods lifted by their friendship._

_"So, what do you think?" Ian asked him at the end of their little self-guided tour, giving him a beaming smile._

_"I think we found our new home." Anthony smiled back, his own more subdued, but still caring. "Are you sure you're ready to commit to living with me all the time?"_

_"More than ready." Ian answered, and Anthony couldn't imagine loving a friend more than he loved him._

"Anthony? Are you alright?" Cheryl approached him cautiously.

"Wha -- yeah." He shook himself from his reverie. "I'm sorry Cheryl, let me buy you dinner."

"No thank you, my dear, I already have plans with my family." She replied, and he suddenly felt very awkward.

"Oh. I uh, I'll just leave then, I'll just go." He could feel his cheeks burning as he picked up the pile of clothes and scooped up his shoes. "Sorry." He mumbled as he moved to leave.

"Wait, at least take the video games. He would've wanted you to have them." She pointed to the small stack of games on the shelf beneath the television.

"No, sell them. I don't want them." He refused her offer, and left quickly, not wanting to think of the games or the mourning mother or the dead friend.

The shower of rain outside cooled his skin as he exited the place, and the weather was the coldest it had been since June. It was the first time it rained since Ian died, and he was sure that somewhere, many people were grateful for its cooling effects. He, however, could care less, and as he drove home, he was unaware that something had broken within him; something deep and necessary. His grief was bending him, changing his mannerisms and flawing his persona, and his insides were slowly becoming as dark as the cloudy skies above him. His hands and breath no longer shook, but that was only the start. That was only the beginning of worse things to come.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well that escalated quickly

Wednesday was no better than the day previous for Anthony, and though he didn't have to face Ian's house again, he still had to face a thousand memories of him. He went to the offices early, where he had meetings upon meetings upon meetings, full of pitying faces and silent looks of doubt. Most were boring and painful, all about business affairs that needed to occur as the result of Ian's death. One, however, was less business and more personal, and it caused him a great deal of pain.

***

"Anthony, we know it's rough, but you need to start making videos again. Fans love Mari and all, but they're worried. They don't think you're recovering from this properly." Brandon was saying to him, increasing the anger he had carried from the moment he woke up.

"So tell me, Brandon, what's the proper way to recover from your best friend's death?" Anthony asked him, and Brandon took a step back.

"Look, what I'm about to tell you, you're not gonna like it. But it's necessary, and though you may argue with me, I think deep down you know it is, too." He seemed to be preparing to run from some sort of stampede.

"Oh God, what is it?" Anthony sighed and wondered when the entire company decided it was alright to make big moves without him.

"We've hired some people. From local community colleges, theaters, art schools. They're not replacing Ian, no one could ever do that, but we need workers. It's really nice that Mari's stepped up to the plate and guest Youtubers are helping us out, but we need you back, and when you return, this can't be a one-man show." He finished and drew in a breath, waiting for Anthony to explode.

"That sounds fine, I guess." He instead merely commented, feeling defeated. He knew he would begrudgingly return to filming some time, but it would've been slightly preferable if he could run away and hide from the memories, the responsibilities. "How many actors?"

"Twenty."

"Twenty?" Anthony yelped incredulously, and Brandon flinched.

"We'll fire a few eventually, but for now it'll be nice to have them. They'll come in on a schedule, we'll see who the fans like, it'll be fun. Give it a chance, man." Brandon didn’t look pleased that he was the one stuck selling this idea to him, but god damn if he wasn’t going to try his hardest before the trap snapped on him.

"Fine. I don't care." Anthony lied angrily, and it was obvious from his seething expression. "Whatever."

But he was furious. At Ian, still, for dying, at the company, at the twenty replacements he hadn't even met thus far. He was angry at the world and its changes, and he spent the rest of that day buried beneath said anger, not at all prepared for what would come the next morning.

***

The hot breath tickled his neck as the person it belonged to bit and nipped at his skin, working all over, finding just the right spots. It was quick and desperate, all moving so fast, but it felt so good to be dirty that he didn't want the one kissing him to slow down.

"Fuck." Anthony muttered, struggling to remain on solid ground. He didn't really know the details, but he knew he was in bed, he was naked, and he was underneath someone with a rather skilled mouth. Said person bit at his jawline, then traced his tongue along the spot before leaning over and looking into Anthony's eyes.

"You're gorgeous." Ian said to him, biting his own lip, and Anthony felt his cock get even harder against Ian's thigh. 

"Ian-" He was interrupted when Ian moved forward, connecting their lips. Ian's were angelically soft against his, but he still played devilishly dirty, biting Anthony's lower lip, then forcing his tongue deep into his mouth. Anthony felt warmer than he'd ever been, and like he could barely breathe, but God did he love the sensation.

Ian broke the kiss and moved his head, so his breath now heated Anthony's ear. He whispered to him.

"Do you want to get fucked, Ant?" 

He ran his hands agonizingly slowly down Anthony's sides. Anthony moaned in response, staring at Ian's pristine neck and longing to make it red and raw with hickeys.

"Do you want me to fuck you so hard you can't walk in the morning?"

Ian's hands stopped at Anthony's waist, his thumbs drawing circles near his pelvic bones. A large part of him wanting to beg for those hands to move somewhere they could satisfy him much more, he refrained and instead gripped the sheets tightly with one hand. With the other, he ran his fingers up Ian's back, touching the vertebrae and feeling the toned muscles beneath his soft skin.

"Fuck me." He whispered back, and he felt Ian grin. The hands went lower again.

"Tell me what you want." Ian shifted his position slightly, his hands cupping Anthony's ass. Anthony could feel flesh and warmth against his thigh, and knowing what is was, he wanted it. He felt Ian grin again before he could piece together an appropriate response.

"Do you want to get spanked?"

He gasped and arched his back as he felt Ian's hands tightly squeeze his ass, his nails digging into his skin, and at that moment he realized he'd never been so turned on in his entire life.

Anthony awoke with a gasp that loosely resembled a strangled yell, actually sitting up in his bed. Beads of sweat were collecting on his forehead, even starting to drip, and he was breathing heavily. Looking over to Kalel, he found her still asleep, and gave a sigh of relief. 

He looked down at his hard cock tenting his boxers, a problem that clearly wasn't going away. Stumbling out of bed, he rushed to the bathroom and closed the door, falling to his knees with shaking legs. He lifted up the seat and felt his chest heave, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt the familiar sensation of hot acid rise in the back of his throat. Tears fell as he leaned to vomit into the toilet, his entire body shaking. He covered his mouth with a hand to stifle a sob and gagged, pulling his hand away to vomit once more.

He panted as he rocked over the toilet and spit into it every few moments. Then he sighed and scooted over a few inches and leaned against the wall, wiping his hot brow. Then, too tired to feel fully panicked, he glanced down at his erect cock, paining him with the strain against his underwear. He could remember every moment of the dream vividly, and it terrified him in ways he wasn't even certain of.

He slid his boxers down, looking down at his lap with a heated face and an aching head. The smallest urge came to reach down and finish things, but he knew who he would be thinking of, and the nausea hit him again. He steadied his breath, then slipped out of his clothes and stood on wobbly legs, then entered the shower. Turning on the cold water, he stood still for a long time, not allowing himself to indulge on the dream.

***

He felt quite awful calling Kris later, after all the yelling that had occurred a few days previous, but he knew he needed help, and Kris seemed like his only option; he certainly wasn't talking to Kalel about it. Kris told him to meet him at his office, and at 8:00 in the morning, Anthony found himself there, uncomfortably warm, head aching, and talking to a young blonde named Ruby while sitting in the waiting room, nervous and alone.

 "Anthony? You can go in now." Ruby called out, and as he passed by, she stopped filing her nails for a moment and leaned in. "Hey, sorry about Ian. I couldn't make it to the funeral but he was a good kid."

"Thanks." He muttered in response, not enjoying the pity. 

He went into the office and halted a moment, surprised. The room was hot, but the thick curtains were drawn, and the lamps in the room were the only source of light, so the heat felt homely instead of typical July weather. Everything was a rich, deep color, so the whole place screamed comfort. Directly ahead of him sat the therapist, in one of two large, inviting chairs. 

"Good morning, Anthony!" Kris smiled. "Have a seat."

Anthony sat in the armchair across from him, settling in comfortably. It occurred to him that if Ian had therapy with the man every Monday when he said he was volunteering at the Y, then he'd sat in that chair often. It felt odd being in what was apparently Ian's place.

"So Anthony, you sounded quite distressed when you called this emergency meeting. What happened?" When Anthony stayed silent, he added "I'm not here to judge people, Anthony. I'm here to help."

"I . . . I had a gay dream about Ian. A really, really gay dream." He raised his eyebrows, and Kris nodded, understanding. "But I threw up when I woke up. It scared me. I don't want to have sex with him, so I don't know why I dreamed it."

"Perhaps because of your newfound knowledge of his affections for you." Kris mused.

"You mean I'm having gay dreams about him because I just found out he's gay?" Anthony questioned doubtfully.

"Well, I wouldn't label him as gay. He never told me so, and he certainly seemed to love -- what was her name, Melanie? -- very much. Another human being cannot identify another's sexuality, but if I had to presume, I would say Ian was bisexual."

"I don't know, you're the one who spent all this time with him. I don't even know the details, all he wrote in the note was that he was in love with me in high school, and that I was embarrassed, and he just let me be happy . . ." Anthony trailed off.

"Note?" Kris looked confused, and Anthony realized Ian didn't tell him he wrote it. He probably didn't tell anyone, wrote it just before he died.

"He -- he didn't tell me about the ca- he didn't say he was sick. He didn't say he loved me, either, until he was gone. He just wrote a little note." He paused, a rush of anger hitting him and causing his chest to tighten. “And you just encouraged him.”

Kris gave a heavy sigh, full of burden. "Anthony, remember when you called and asked when to come over, and I said whenever you like?"

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with anything?" Anthony asked.

"I usually have patients nearly all day. I've been transferring them to other psychologists because I'm retiring." He looked Anthony directly in the eyes, and his next words were a confession he'd never said aloud. "Ian was my biggest blunder. I have always been good at my practice, but I slipped up. I let him keep this secret, maybe even wanted him too. I got too close, I befriended him, and the clarity disappeared. I'm getting to old for this game, and you can start to see it in my work. It's time to move on."

"So at the end of the day . . . Was all this your doing? Did Ian lie to me because of you?” His head pounded harder than ever as anger and confusion weighed heavy on him.

“I certainly helped, but no, that idea came from him.” Kris sighed and bowed his head.

“Helped?" Anthony asked, his bewilderment causing his anger to falter and his confusion to rise. "Why?"

"Because he was in denial. Because it would break him if he told. Because he was too afraid to ask for help. As a therapist, I'm supposed to help my patients accept change and learn from it, even if it means hurting them, so long as it's beneficial in the long run. But with Ian, I knew his life was ending, I didn't see a long run. I just wanted to protect him, even if that meant keeping his life from changing. But I failed him. And his mother, and you. And for that I am truly sorry."

There was a moment of silence before Kris spoke again, not meeting Anthony’s eyes.

“I remember a time in June, on the fourth, he told me he was thinking of telling you. I told him to think on it.”

Anthony kept staring at him, but his eyes were still downcast to his shoes.

“Until then, he planned on telling you eventually. But that week he decided if he would admit it, or just never tell you at all.” He looked up, into Anthony’s eyes. “He came back the eleventh and chose the latter. He decided one afternoon while you were eating lunch together.”

Anthony wracked his brain to think of a time that felt ages ago. Lunch between the fourth and the eleventh. They’d had pizza. That had been it? That had been the day he almost knew? The most ordinary day of his life?

They sat in silence for a long moment, staring at each other. One had a weight lifted just a fraction off his chest, the other was trying to process everything that had been said. Finally, Anthony spoke, his mind hazy.

"I don't know what to say."

"I'm not asking for forgiveness. But I would like to earn it, eventually." Kris replied, his kind eyes twinkling in earnest. 

"Then tell me this. Did he love me? Did he just settle for Mel?" Anthony leaned forward, his face determined.

"I believe he loved her, I really do. And he loved you." Kris said.

"Then why did he wait until he was dead to tell me? Why didn't he tell me he had cancer? Didn't he know how this would hurt me?" Anger was edging back into his voice, mixing with familiar fatigue. "It was selfish. I just -- I don't understand why he did this."

"Maybe you never will. It'll take time, Anthony, but you need to accept what's been done. As for those questions . . ." He hesitated. "Ian was in denial. Of how much you cared for him, of how serious death is, of what would come after he left. And denial, Anthony, is a powerful thing, something you'll surely agree with when you look back on this."

"What do you mean?" He furrowed his brows and tilted his head slightly. 

"You defined that dream as the exact opposite of what you want. You're seeing your friendship in a new light, and I understand that's difficult. But don't deny feelings and desires just because you once thought they were taboo. Did you enjoy the dream?"

"I don't know." Anthony confessed honestly, his words rushed and a bit too harsh. "I don't know what I want. But I know one thing. I'm angry. At everything and everyone. All of this hurts, Kris. I just want it to be how it used to be."

Kris' face got serious. "I didn't prepare Ian for change, and when it came he and those he loved were destroyed. I cannot let that happen to you, Anthony. Ian was my responsibility, and now you and Cheryl are too. You can't get things how they used to be, but you can accept what was and what is. I'd like to help you with that."

Anthony nodded and let out a shaky breath. He hadn't noticed how tense the air in the room had become. 

"So let's meet again, shall we? How about Monday at three? Seems fitting." Kris suggested with a shrug, and Anthony grimly realized that Kris now had an opening in that time.

"Is this gonna be a weekly thing?" Anthony questioned.

"We'll see how it goes." Kris smiled and stood, and Anthony did the same. Kris shook his hand firmly, and Anthony made to depart before pausing for another question.

"How much will all this cost?"

"Anthony, pardon my language, but . . ." He smiled mischievously so Anthony saw the youth he once had. "Fuck it, I'm retiring."

For the first time in days, Anthony smiled. 

***

He really didn't want to think of the dream again. Or of denial or anything else he discussed with Kris. He just wanted to get home and act like everything was normal. Walking through the door, he was prepared to do that, until he realized he couldn't look Kalel in the eyes. He did just have a dirty dream about their dead friend, after all. 

"Hey, babe, you left really early, where were you?" She said from the couch, and he looked over to see Kabuki snuggled next to her as she painted her nails. 

"Nowhere. Work." He lied quickly, and when she looked up at him, he turned and avoided her gaze.

"Oh. Do you want to hang out with me and Kabuki?" She offered, hope in her voice, but he felt too awkward to join them.

"No, um, I'll just clean Charlie's cage or dust or something. Get the house nice and clean." He quickly grabbed a sponge from the sink and, feeling her eyes on him, started wiping down the counter. Sensing her turning away, he continued, until thinking of Ian, whom he recalled cleaned when he got worked up. He dropped the sponge and retired to his room, ignoring his girlfriend's questioning look.

Change was their big problem, and they had to face it and accept it. But unfortunately, big changes were coming, and Anthony wasn't prepared for the difficulties he would encounter. For now he could only ponder the past with Ian, and cringe at a future he didn't care for.

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony visits Ian's grave.

As he drove to work, he knew he wasn't going to like his day. It was an average rainy Friday, with some disgustingly uncomfortable weather and a Summer heat that resulted in a horrible combination. But he had to start filming again, and he had to do it with Ian's replacements, a thought which made his stomach clench. 

They were filming in the offices, as they had been since Ian died, and it chilled Anthony to know that their weekly Friday episodes would no longer be created in the home of the friend that wrote them and cared for them so much. But the show must go on, or at least that's what everyone else was saying. Ian didn't mention Smosh in the end; he made sure Anthony got the money he deserved from the company, but neither of them owned it, so it wasn't like they could shut it down. Even if he could, he wasn't sure if he would, not knowing whether to kill the company after Ian's death or keep it going, as his legacy. 

When he arrived, the crew was scattered about, and he saw cameras, booms, and coolers full of water bottles everywhere. It would've all been commonplace, if it were at Ian's house. But that was over, and he'd never get that back. 

"Anthony, morning!" Zach called to him, and Anthony went over to him without a reply. "So we've got three today, and they're going to be doing most of the video, so you only have to be here for a few minutes. It would be nice of course if you stayed and watched, but, whatever you wanna do."

"Fine. Who are they?" Anthony looked around for them, and saw one immediately. "Tan girl putting on makeup, who's she?"

"Darian." He replied, and in doing so called her over with a motion of his hand. "Hey can you explain the scene to Anthony? I've got a ton of stuff I should be doing."

Darian approached him, seemingly friendly and explaining the little piece they had to do together while Anthony nodded, pretending to listen. She was a cute little hispanic girl that was no true replacement, but she could stay for now.

"So if you would just take your place next to the desk, Mr. Padilla, we can get started." She finished, her chest puffed up in pride at her apparently fantastic overview of the scene which Anthony had not heard a word of.

"Yeah, sure. Anyone else in this scene?" He walked towards the desk sitting in front of the camera, and she, taking the hint, walked with him.

"RJ." She pointed to a tall blonde man chatting with one of the writers. 

"One Direction, we need you over here, we're filming!" Anthony called out to him with a wave of an arm. 

He walked over quickly with a broad smile on his face. "Thanks, Anthony, but it's RJ. I don't really look like that One Direction kid."

Anthony smirked as they got into their places, malice in his grin. There was something to be said in converting your own problems into cruelty.

They filmed quickly, and Anthony did so with a lackluster feel, but his lines were short and bland, so he felt no need to pretend to be more happy than he was, and no one would speak against him. They then grabbed the cameras and moved outside, setting up to do a short scene in the parking lot. The park would've been the ideal place to film, but Anthony knew he couldn't go back there, something it seemed everyone silently agreed with. It was here where Anthony met the third actor of the day, the one who would change everything for him, for Kalel, and for the way he mourned Ian.

He was looking around casually when he saw an image from the corner of his eye, and in shock, said what he thought that image was aloud.

"Ian?" He muttered, then felt instantly better when he realized he hadn't said it too loudly, because the figure in the distance was not his old friend. It was in fact a girl, with a pale skin tone matching Ian's. Walking closer, he saw her body held the same extra weight Ian's did, and that her hair was just a few shades darker, but her side-swept bangs drew his eye immediately, reminding him of Ian's signature haircut. With her hair tied in the back, and adorning a simple tee and shorts ensemble, it was easy to confuse them from the distance.

"Anthony!" Someone called out, and he turned to see Zach walking towards him. "Have you met our last intern of the day?" 

At the word 'intern' the young lady turned her head and saw the pair standing a few feet away. When Zach waved, something Anthony almost got angry at him for, she headed over, smiling politely. 

"Hana, this is Anthony." Zach said, and Hana held out her hand to shake. Anthony took it awkwardly.

"Pleasure to be working with you, Anthony." She nodded. "I think we can do this in like five minutes and get it over with, so we should get in our positions."

"Ye -- Yeah, okay." Anthony stumbled over his words and blushed, and she, not noticing, left to get in front of the camera. 

They did the scene quickly, during which, Anthony felt increasingly stupid. He actually was slightly attracted to her for a moment. Because she looked like Ian, maybe? He quickly brushed that thought aside. 

They finished filming, then Anthony left without another word, anger and confusion stirring in his gut. He wasn't attracted to her, he decided. He loved Kalel. Hell, he wasn't even attracted to Ian. 

He spent the rest of the day distracting himself from that last lie. 

***

He'd just gotten up late and was petting Charlie through the bars of his cage (which now sat in their bedroom, resulting in a both comforting and upsetting reminder of Ian every time Anthony heard the guinea pig make a sound) when he recalled he had more filming to do that day. With that abrupt realization, he took a speedy shower, straightened his hair and left, not even seeking out Kalel for a goodbye. Between sleeping and spending very small amounts of time out filming, he felt as though he barely saw the woman he lived with. Maybe, subconsciously, he was even avoiding her a bit. 

He filmed quickly, though with a raging headache. They were doing the new Monday videos, 'Smoshy Monday' (he rolled his eyes any time someone uttered the ridiculous words), and in doing so met three more of Ian's  predecessors. Katie was the first, a cute blonde dancer with thick glasses who’d managed out four words off camera. Next was Alyssa, an adorably chubby tan little thing, in a sweat shirt, tennis shoes and an excited smile. The last was Rosa, with dark blue eyes and a thick northern European accent. Funny, bubbly, and social, she was overall really cute and sure to be a hit with the audience. 

Though Anthony was pleased that his crew’s choices for Ian’s replacements were seemingly suitable, he wasn’t pleased at filming, and having to do it without Ian. It was the same old pain and misery that would just have to keep coming and coming, over and over again until the end of Smosh or himself. He was already tired of it, but could do nothing to fix it (at least that was what he thought). Going home, being unable to look Kalel in the eye, that was the sort of rut he was falling into. It was a bad place, worse than any he’d experienced at any point in his life. 

***

“Anthony? I know you like to sleep in, but this is ridiculous.” He stirred uncomfortably, cracking his neck and blinking his eyes rapidly to accustom them to the light. It was Sunday morning, and the light gently flowed in from the windows as Kalel leaned over him, slight annoyance on her face.

“Babe, Ian just got a grave marker today, I thought we could go visit him.” She said to him with a great air of patience. 

“Grave marker?” Anthony questioned, voice gravelly from sleep.

“Tombstone, sweetheart.” She answered, making her way to the closet to pull out some clothes for him. “You don’t get one until a while after you . . . pass on.”

“Oh.” He muttered. “So we’re -- we’re going to go see a piece of rock lying six feet above my best friend’s rotting corpse.”

“Don’t start with me, Anthony.” She threw a shirt at him. “It’s the nice thing to do.”

“Well I don’t want to do it. Why can’t I just stay here, sleep in?” He covered his head with his pillow in frustration, feeling his hair bend up at odd angles. 

“Because it’s two in the afternoon, and because I said so.” Kalel responded with an air of finality, and Anthony sighed in defeat and grabbed the shirt.

***

They drove without words between them, the only noise being the music Kalel blasted to fight the tension. On the way there, they stopped by at a little florist, and when Anthony refused, Kalel went in and bought some sunflowers for their friend.

Finally arriving at the cemetery, the couple found their way to the grave, and Anthony stared for a long time at the simple stone that bore the words ‘Rest In Peace Ian Hecox: Nov. 30 1987 - July 8 2012.’ There had been a bunch of blue hydrangeas placed at the gravestone, and Anthony knew instantly that they’d been put there by his mother. The flowers he had given to her at the block party, returned.

He felt a soft hand touch his, and he let Kalel grasp him completely and lean her head against her shoulder. The sun peaked through the clouds a bit, and they listened to some birds chirp without speaking. Anthony figured it would’ve been peaceful if it was Ian in front of him, not the tombstone, but then of course realized it wouldn’t have been peaceful at all; Ian would’ve been chatting like he always used to, back in the old days. That was a sort of peace too, but the kind that’s harder to appreciate while one had it.

“Do you want me to leave you two alone for a minute? So you can say something?” Kalel asked him quietly, and a heavy sadness settled over him.

“Why.” His voice was flat. “He’s dead, he can’t hear me.”

“He might.” She grinned solemnly. “There’s always a chance.”

“You know neither of us ever believed in stuff like that.” He pointed out. 

“I’m just saying it’s possible. I’m not saying he’s going to pop out of the ground and-” She paused, bit her lip, and sighed, realizing her statement was a mistake. “I’ll just wait in the car, okay?”

She reached out to pat the marker, almost as though tapping Ian gently on the shoulder in silent friendship, and walked away, leaving Anthony alone with him.

“What now then? What do I say to you?” He stared at the granite. “You’re gone. You can’t hear me.”

He thought about just returning to the car, feeling foolish. He knew Ian was gone, he had (painfully) accepted that. He had a ton to say to him, sure, but that didn’t mean he wanted to talk to a rock in a graveyard.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll talk to you.” He muttered. “You know what I want to talk about, Ian? Why you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me you were gay, you didn’t tell me you had cancer. You sick son of a bitch.”

He couldn’t control his shaking fists. His voice got louder.

“I loved you. You were my best friend and I loved you. Maybe even more than -- no, no. It wasn’t like that. But you should’ve told me how you felt when you were alive, or maybe you just shouldn’t have told me at all. What do you want me to do, leave her? Like men? Become a widow? I don’t know what to do!” He yelled.

“I’m alone! Without you, Ian, I’m alone! No matter what the fuck anyone else says, even with Kalel and Kris and your mom and your goddamn replacements, I am so stupidly empty and alone. I’ve got no one, nothing without you.”

He sighed, his eyes brimming with tears and his cheeks burning as the volume of his voice quickly faded away. He was ashamed to admit that aloud, especially when Ian wasn’t alive to hear him. 

“Come back. Please. Come back to me.” Anthony whispered, and still no answer. He yelled his final words to him. “God damn you! God damn you, Ian! Why did you write that dumb fucking note, huh? Why did you tell me ‘don’t stop living. Grow up, get old?’ Fucking why? Do you think I want to live with this the rest of my life? You lucky bastard, if you can feel anything you should feel really fucking grateful that you wrote that, or I would’ve killed myself and finished all this shit! If it wasn’t the last advice you gave to me I wouldn’t have followed it! I don’t want to live like this, I don’t want to live the way you forced me to live!”

He finished bellowing his monologue, staring at the stone marker, half expecting Ian to just out from behind him and scream an angry reply. Taking deep breaths, he wiped tears from his cheeks, fighting a grimace. Then, composing himself, he walked slowly back to the car.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! hmu at jackiestolz.tumblr.com for some additional commentary on today's chapter!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> love is rough for these poor fucks

It was Monday morning, a normal one for everyone else, a shit one for Anthony. He’d spent the previous day screaming at a piece of rock that represented his dead best friend, and none of the things he said had given him answers; he’d only revealed things he wanted to stay hidden, things he wanted to furiously deny to everyone including himself. What only made things worse was the fact that he had to keep pushing forward, keep acting like all that happened yesterday actually didn’t. He told that tombstone, that empty air, the universe, that he craved death after Ian’s, and now he had to deal with these revelations. It had been so much easier to be numb, to be permanently angry at a cruel world. Now sadness leaked from the deepest corners of his thoughts and contaminated him, and sorrow is a difficult thing to feel when one has so little experience, all throughout his life replacing it with anger, passion, fear, empowerment, or a blankness to shield him from the wounds of living.

It affected him as he filmed, and his false smiles and laughter were harder to produce than any in the weeks previous. The pain he felt now was somehow worse than that from immediately after Ian’s death, because that pain was so intense and raw, but this one burned inside him with a low heat, long and torturous; the first was the sadness that comes with shock and grief and it’s a flash of absolute agony, but the second was a remorse that Anthony knew he would feel for so much longer, and that’s what made it hurt so.

He tried to distract himself by meeting two more of the many new workers, Alice and Danielle. Alice was of average height and had brown hair with eyes to match, and spent most of the day staring at Anthony through thick glasses with concern clear on her face. Danielle was only five feet tall with curly darker hair, and he learned during the day that she was from Bristol, England, with an accent made for attracting viewers. Nice girls, but he didn’t want them. He wanted to stop all filming, run from Smosh headquarters, and never hear the word again, but how could he do that? How could he give that up? He wanted to, he really did, but something made him stay. Ian, the nostalgia, he didn’t know, but he felt foolish with every doubt and every affirmation of staying. 

And yet here they were, filming movie reviews and telling bad puns and actually pretending that it was all okay, when it so clearly wasn’t. Not for him, anyway, and couldn’t he just be selfish and unkind and stop all this? No, something held him back, something kept him from breaking entirely, but he could feel that something fading. The end of something was on the air. 

***

Meeting with Kris, again, Monday at three, just as Ian had done for so long without ever telling him. He wasn’t sure if this was a cruel irony or just him finishing the job. Whatever the case, he sat in the soft chair in the warm office, across from this kindly old man, and he still felt misery bubble in the pit of his stomach.

“Good afternoon, Anthony.” Kris greeted. “It’s nice seeing you again.” 

“You too.” He replied, dully. “How’s the retirement thing going?” 

“Well it’s not as fast as it should be. Patients are quite particular when it comes to their therapist, I have to give them time to adjust.” He shrugged and shuffled his feet a bit, obviously uncomfortable. It was a burden that he failed Ian, and it made him feel like one himself. But it was time to move on.

“So, Anthony, I’d like to talk to you about Ian.” He smiled, though Anthony suppressed a frown.

“Shocker.” Anthony said. “I don’t wanna talk about that dream again, doc-”

“You don’t have to.” He interrupted. “We don’t have to talk about anything physical. Just about love. Did you love him?”

“Of course I did.” Anthony answered in an almost biting tone. “Just not like that.”

“Like what?” Kris asked, looking studious. It irritated Anthony, but he shook it off.

“Like, _love_ him. Like Kalel.” 

“And what’s the difference between the love you have for Ian, and the love you have for your girlfriend?” Kris questioned, one eyebrow raised.

“Well . . .” Anthony thought for a moment. The way he felt for Kalel was different ever since Ian started to get sick (back when he saw his friend faint, not knowing cancer afflicted him); his concern grew for Ian and decreased for her. Then, when Ian died, any thoughts of loving her, or anyone else, receded to the back of his mind as grief took a hold of him and filled him with anger. “I don’t know. I remember meeting Kalel, instantly thinking that she was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen -- it wasn’t like that meeting Ian.”

“But you met Ian in sixth grade during a science project.” Kris countered. “Ian told me.” He explained in answer to Anthony's questioning gaze.

“But it still felt different.” He hung his head.

“All love feels different.” Kris sighed. “To me, however, true, deep love always felt like satisfaction -- like a completion.” He suddenly looked as though he was in the past, thinking of a time long ago. “It was the want to eat ice cream in the park with them, have lazy Sundays with them, curl into bed together every night and lie face to face, playing with their hair, kissing their forehead, holding their hand . . . and wanting to do it every night for the rest of your life. That’s what I always thought love was about.”

Anthony continued to stare at his lap, but his vision was blurred through watery eyes. He wanted to say that he didn’t feel any of that, that none of those things sounded like something he would want with Ian, but that would have been a lie. Because he could easily imagine doing any of that with him, not in a goofy way, not in an odd way for filming, but just naturally doing it. Just being together.

“Anthony, forget sexuality for a moment. Forget gender. Forget what you’re supposed to think of him. Do you love him?” Kris leaned in.

“But that stuff’s important.” Anthony could feel himself shaking. Why was he so nervous? What would his answer be? He himself didn’t even know for certain.

“I know. But anyone can love anyone. It’s important, but not what matters most. Do you love him?”

“Yeah.” Anthony let out a shaky breath, almost surprising himself with the answer. “Yeah, I love him.” He paused and corrected himself. “Loved. We can’t talk about this like he’s not gone. Besides, none of this will bring him back.”

“It’s not my intention to bring him back.” Kris sat back in his chair. “It’s my intention to help you move on.”

“And how will exposing how I feel for him do that?” Anthony shook his head. “Maybe this therapy thing is going too far. Maybe I should’ve just forgotten about all this.”

“Forgotten about your friend loving you? About him succumbing to cancer? There is no way to forget such tragedy. But knowing something, having clarity, that’s far better than spending the rest of your life pushing confusion away. And that’s what we’re here to do.”

Anthony nodded, and silence fell between the pair as the session ended, but poor Anthony felt no clarity, and had in fact never been so confused in his entire life. And this feeling, combined with a terrible remorse, would haunt him for longer than any foul feelings should.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (commentary for the chapter at jackiestolz.tumblr.com if you're interested. thanks for reading!)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yelling! churches! sad! woohoo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commentary as per us at jackiestolz.tumblr.com

_“You’re gonna be nice, right?”_

_“No Ant, I’m gonna be a complete asshole.” Ian said from the passenger seat next to him. It was sunny out, yet chilly, and they both wore light jackets paired with nervous expressions._

_“Very funny.” He swatted Ian playfully. “Just be on your best behavior, okay? I really like this girl.”_

_“Okay, okay.” Ian replied, and grew silent. There was a look on his face that made Anthony uneasy, something opposite what it should have been. Sadness? Jealousy? He hadn’t been hanging out with his good friend lately, not since he’d been spending so much time with his new girlfriend, and he was sure that was the problem._

“Anthony?” He heard Kalel’s voice and turned away from the window, where he had paused to look at the rain outside and think of days long gone. “It’s Tuesday.”

“I know.” Anthony said, looking back out the window. It was really pouring out, for one of the first times since Ian died. He hadn’t expected the hot, sunny weather that had followed Ian’s death; when someone important died in a movie, the whole world stood still and the clouds poured. Now it was just sunny, and the only one who was stood still was him.

“So you have to take your suit to the dry cleaners. For the memorial service, remember?” Kalel questioned him as she made up the bed.

“What? No.” Anthony shook his head.

“Ian’s service? The one I told you about in the car on the way home from the cemetery the other day?” When Anthony stayed silent, she continued. “Apparently his friend, a deacon I think, was out of town when he passed away, so now he’s holding a service. Cheryl invited us.”

“The deacon.” Anthony said slowly, taking in the new information.

“It’s a baptist thing. Like a priest but not as holy, I think.” Kalel finished with the bed and approached him carefully, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I know, it’s just at the -- the will reading, I met that guy, I thought it already passed.” He didn’t mention to her that when he’d heard of it, he had no intention of going.

“Cheryl said you guys met, yeah, but apparently he did a lot of traveling so it had to be postponed. Rumor has it his church is in danger of shutting down.” She shrugged noncommittally.

He didn’t really know how to respond to that. A large part of him just couldn’t care anymore, but something deep inside him felt as though something was wrong.

“We really should go, Anthony, it would mean a lot to Cheryl.” She continued. “And if you can’t, I’ll do it without you, I get that this is hard.”

“I can do it.” Anthony muttered, though unsure he could. Kalel sighed, removed her hand from his shoulder, and left Anthony alone in the room. But he himself was already gone, thinking of an old memory.

_They were at a picnic, which Anthony decided not to call ridiculous when Ian suggested it. Ian had said it would be the perfect way to meet and hang out with Kalel while they got to know each other, and though Anthony teased and called him a romantic, he had to admit it played out well._

_Ian was polite upon meeting her, though a bit more quiet than usual. He asked her about where she was from, what she did, how she felt today, all the little things. They unpacked their picnic and ate on a blanket, shooing away the occasional bug. Anthony thought things were going well, though he wasn’t absolutely convinced._

_The ice cream truck rang around and they helped themselves to the cold treats, and when Ian left them alone for a minute to grab some napkins, Anthony finally got to find out how Kalel felt about his greatest friend._

_“I think he likes you.” He said, affectionately putting an arm around her shoulder._

_“Oh really?” She smirked, then her smile became genuine. “Well, I like him, too.”_

_“Even though he has a bowl haircut?” Anthony questioned, and she giggled. “It can be pretty off-putting. Very distracting.”_

_She continued to giggle, shaking her head. “Even with the haircut.” She smiled and took a deep breath. They examined Ian across the park, stopping to pet a dog. Anthony couldn’t help but smile to himself._

_“He’s not usually this quiet, ya know.” He sighed. “I think he’s just getting used to you. Soon we won’t be able to shut him up.”_

_“I’m okay with that.” She said, and waved as Ian parted with the dog and his owner and made his way back to them. “It’s like we have a little hyperactive kid and we’re just really dysfunctional parents.”_

_“You’re calling me dysfunctional?” He gasped. “You’re the one always out with your drinking buddies. How could you do this to me? I’m your wife!”_

_Her laughter reverberated through the air, and the loving sound of it almost distracted Anthony from the temporary look of pain in Ian’s eyes._

***

He was filming the next day, though he had no idea what anymore. He never wrote anything, and he only learned his lines the day he had to say them. He’d been disconnected as of late; he didn’t know how the fans were dealing with the loss now, or if they liked the new workers, or if they were losing any subscribers. He didn’t want to know. He wanted to give up on Smosh, throw it away so its pathetic little life without Ian could end. But no, he stayed. Only because Ian might have wanted him to.

He met two of the new cast that day, distracting him from his bitterness but not exactly making him care about them. Howard, an overly-excited kid with curly, dirty brown hair and dark brown eyes, and Cassie, who was four-foot-nine and funny, but awkward at times. The only thing he knew about these new people in his life is that they were all short and terrific at making him miss his friend in some unconscious little way. And it was driving him mad.

***

One hand on his steering wheel, another pulling at his collar, Anthony detested being back in the suit he wore at Ian’s funeral, especially with the knowledge that he was going to another event just like it. But driving to the church he’d only passed by, never actually been too, he knew he didn’t have a choice. He had so little left of Ian; Smosh, the dying project he no longer cared for, Charlie, his new pet, and Cheryl, the woman who raised Ian, and in recent years, had almost become a mother to Anthony himself. It was the first time that he actually regretted letting so much of Ian slip away.

“Anthony, it’s that one there.” Kalel piped up next to him, pointing to a little white church on the corner. He turned into the parking lot, stopping the car next to a sign that read _Sacramento Baptist Church_ and staring at his hands for a moment.

“Anthony?” Kalel said his name quietly beside him. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Yeah.” Anthony agreed flatly, though he didn’t really feel that was true. 

They got out of the car and stepped inside, Anthony doing so with hitched breath. It was a simple building, with pews and white walls with the usual organs towards the pulpit that most churches have. Towards the front of the room, Anthony could clearly see the Deacon, whom he’d only met once before, speaking with Cheryl, and a jolt of pain went through him at the sight of her. She looked exponentially older every time they met, the poor thing coping with mourning almost as badly as he was.

“We should go say hi.” Kalel said, stepping forward, but Anthony stayed rooted to the spot, looking around at the people in the church.

It was crowded, yes, but mostly not with those he knew. He recognized some members of Smosh at a quick glance, and in the corner of the room spotted a familiar Hawaiian shirt that he decided to avoid for the time being, but the rest were strangers, families with little kids and old women with large, pastel hats.

“Who are these people?” He questioned Kalel, fear creeping up into him without him quite realizing it. Did Ian know all these people without ever telling him? Are they more and more secrets?

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Let’s ask Cheryl.” She grabbed his hand and gave him a nod of reassurance, and together they made their way over to her, though nervousness increased in Anthony with every step he took. 

“Good morning, you two.” Cheryl said, and hugged them both, Anthony’s arms shaking when they came around her torso. 

“Hey, Cheryl.” Kalel smiled, pity in her eyes. “Who are all these people?”

“Church goers.” The Deacon said beside her. “Ian donated a lot to this place, and though many here did not know him, we’re all very grateful.”

Anthony felt his tense muscles go slack with relief, finding something nice about one less lie to worry about.

“Kalel, why don’t you help me with those trays over there so people can get a bite to eat before the sermon?” Cheryl asked her politely, and they left together, forcing Anthony to stay behind with this man he barely knew.

“So, um, how’s the church doing then?” Anthony asked, both nervous about being there and curious about the status of the allegedly poor place.

“Well, our attendants are happy, and we’re doing the most we can for them to create a tight-knit community, so that’s all well and good.” He said, and Anthony, now hearing the man talk more, realized his voice was not just deep, but slightly comforting as well, and highly articulate. “Unfortunately, we’re not doing well in the financial sense.”

“What about donations? From these people, from Ian?” Anthony raised his brow.

“Ian’s donations during the last few months were incredibly helpful, but some unexpected difficulties occurred. They might not be enough to see us through this storm.” He looked over the crowd of chatting Christians solemnly.

“So everything he did . . . it didn’t help.” Anthony felt his nervous feeling replaced by some odd sadness, a distant sort of feeling.

“It boosted morale; that is quite helpful in my opinion.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head. “I think you should take a seat, I’ll be starting soon.”

Anthony nodded and scanned the room, eventually finding Kalel and taking a seat next to her on the pew. When he sensed someone sit beside him, he turned briefly to see a handsome and familiar man looking up to the Deacon, and upon looking quickly to his own lap, recalled that it was John Marrow, Ian’s doctor. Another secret he kept, one he discovered upon seeing Ian’s dead body very briefly in a hospital room, a body Marrow was meant to care for.

“Good morning, everyone.” The Deacon said warmly to the crowd. “If you could please find your seats among the pews so we could get started, that would be greatly appreciated.”

The typical bumps, moans and groans that came with people taking their places was heard, and echoed in the church. Anthony was just thankful he wasn’t sitting behind an old woman with a giant hat. 

“Thank you everyone. We’re all gathered here, in these hallowed walls, to celebrate a life, to mourn a death; Ian Hecox was only twenty-four years old when he succumbed to cancer, but what he gave to the world was worth years of joy, years beyond which the average man could ever live.

“The ever-caring son, Ian loved his mother dearly, and showed it frequently in his actions. He was always kind and caring to her, knowing she was a bright point in his life; for truly a nurturing mother is a kind gift from the Lord.” 

Anthony heard soft murmurs of agreement from the crowd he sat in. Personally, he wondered if this was going to drag on.

“Then, as a young man, he teamed up with his best friend, and they created a company that changed the lives of many young people. They made videos that created joy, laughter, passion. Things that inspired creativity, brought happiness to young people who suffered from a lack of it. And that will be his legacy, and in the future people will look up to this man, and they will beam when they think of him, for he was a man who created laughter, and that is a beautiful thing.”

Anthony continued to stare at his lap, trying to keep his mind blank. He didn’t want to care, want to feel. There was a deep and long-lasting sadness inside him, and he wanted to feel no more excess pain than that. But he could feel a touch of pride hit him for just a moment, before he forced it away, not wanting to feel any more attachment to the fans or the crew. They weren’t as good without Ian, they were a reminder that he didn’t have someone he loved -- maybe someone he was really in love with -- any longer.

“During the last few months of Ian’s life, he came into this church continuously, donating games, office supplies, and even a bicycle, helping families in need flourish during hard times. His generous spirit helped people he never met, without hesitation, without selfishness. Though his faith is unknown to us, though we know not if he believed in the Lord, we can be certain that after his passing, he was greeted by Saint Peter with reverence upon walking through the gates of Heaven. May his soul find peace and absolution in the duration of his eternity in God’s Kingdom. Amen.”

The people seated around Anthony repeated the final word, heads bowed with respect. He fidgeted awkwardly in his seat.

“Now you may all stand if you wish, to speak among yourselves, to visit our snack table, or to come forward to the pulpit, where my podium and the walls behind me are adorned with photos of Ian, commemorating his life. This is not a sermon, this is a community gathered together for a friend, no need for formality.”

The audience hummed lightly with assorted laughter, and started to stand and walk around. Anthony felt Marrow leave his side, and watched him walk over to examine the photos.

“We should walk around, say hi.” Kalel leaned in and muttered to him. “Some of your work friends are here.”

Anthony looked over to Drew, Zach, Daniel and Brandon, a small group of various Smosh employees. He didn’t want to go over and say hello to any of them, but Brandon turned and waved, and he was left with no choice.

“Cheryl is calling me over, I’ll say hi to your friends later, okay?” And with that she stood and departed, leaving him alone to face his friends, those whose importance would never equal that of the man whose death they were mourning. 

“Hey guys.” He nodded to all of them, sadness weighing him down too much for a polite smile. They all greeted him, and he fought to ignore the pity in their eyes. 

“We were just talking about Ian. Deacon Franklin gave an interesting sermon there.” Drew said, his lips pursed and his brow raised slightly. Anthony got the sinking feeling that he was suspicious of something; maybe that Ian loved him, maybe that Anthony might love him back.

“I, um, I don’t think it was technically a sermon, more of a speech. Uh, actually, I just saw an old friend that I need to say hi to, I’ll catch up with you guys later.” He gave them a half wave and walked away quickly, towards a bright, familiar pattern.

“Afternoon, Kris.” He said, shaking the elder man’s hand and looking down to his Hawaiian print shirt.

“Hello, Anthony.” He smiled. “That looked like some very professional avoiding I just witnessed.”

“Oh.” Anthony felt his cheeks redden. “I just -- there was something wrong. They know something.”

“What kind of something?” Kris questioned, taking a sip of water from the little plastic cup he no doubt received from the table where the few trays of food sat.

“Like . . . the kind of something we discussed on Monday.” Anthony lowered his voice.

“That’s a big something.” Kris gave a heavy sigh. “Do you still feel the same way about that particular something?”

“I don’t know. I guess.” He really didn’t know. Uncertainty gripped him every day, stabbing him uncomfortably at every moment he least expected it to come.

“But you won’t admit to anyone how you felt about him. Not his mother, not your friends?” He asked, tilting his head in earnest. 

“I can’t. I just can’t.” He looked over to Cheryl and Kalel, chatting almost happily. He knew Kalel read the note, but she brushed it off, so maybe she just didn’t care. Maybe she already knew.

“He wants to talk to you.” Kris said, and when Anthony turned and gave him a questioning look, he clarified. “John. Ian’s doctor.”

They looked over to him, examining photos by the pulpit, face blank.

“Why should I?” Anthony asked, seeing no way for their conversation to end well.

“He’s my friend, Anthony. He’s nearly devastated after losing a patient. I don’t know what he wants to say to you, but whatever it is, he needs to say it.”

Anthony let out a breath, sad and tired of it all, then nodded to Kris, leaving him to approach Marrow instead. He reached the pulpit and stood next to the taller, tan man in silence, looking over the photos. He’d seen some of them before in Ian’s old house, pictures of him as a kid, then a teenager, then an adult. In the still photos that didn’t quite catch the glimmer in his eye, he looked vibrant, happy.

“I remember when he looked like that.” Marrow said, pointing to one of the photos. Anthony recognized it as the annual fourth of July block party, one year ago. They were both in it, holding half-eaten watermelon and bearing huge smiles.

“Towards the end though . . .” He pointed to another picture on the podium, in the opposite corner. Fourth of July, the recent one. Four days before he died. “He just didn’t look real anymore. He looked like he’d already left, but was just hanging on.”

Anthony stayed silent, staring at the picture. Ian was sitting in the rocking chair on his neighbor’s porch; he fondly recalled that Cheryl was friends with the neighbor, and when he picked up Ian to hang out with on summer nights, the two were sat in those chairs drinking tea and gossiping. It was supposed to be a happy place, a happy little thought, but now it was tainted by the sight of Ian’s illness. Ian was pale, his eyes were sunken and purple underneath, his hair flat and lacking shine, his skin starting to turn translucent and looking sweaty. 

When Anthony looked at his friend before he died, he didn’t see this. He saw Ian just a little worse than usual. He had no idea. Hell, maybe his subconscious did know, and he just tried to shove it away. Towards the end he was suspicious that something was wrong, something more than the low blood pressure Ian told him he was suffering from, but he didn’t have the nerve to bring it up; he was scared to be right.

“He was supposed to go mid-June. It was a miracle he lasted that long.” Marrow commented, looking at the pictures of his former patient as a toddler.

“You know what would’ve been a miracle? If a doctor convinced him to get some chemo so he could live longer. Past twenty four years old, at least.” Anthony muttered to him through clenched teeth, anger rising in him.

“Let me talk to you outside. Please.” Marrow turned to him, his eyes pleading.

“Why?” Anthony asked flatly.

“I went on a leave of absence after he died. I was broken up. I grew fond of your friend; let me talk to you about him, explain myself. I’ll answer any question you have.”

Anthony stared at him a moment, thinking, then nodded stiffly, and they walked outside together, weaving in between running children and doting old ladies. It was cloudy outside, minutes from raining.

“Explain. Now.” Anthony spat at him when he got to the little brick walkway outside the church, distancing himself from the man.

“I had a sister. Katherine. I loved her dearly, like you loved Ian, though maybe in a different sense.” He started, then continued when Anthony didn’t respond. “She got sick when I was young, leukemia. I had to watch her struggle for over a year. It tore my family apart. When she died, I was so relieved she wasn’t hurting anymore, but my parents still grieved for years.”

“And?” Anthony asked quietly, his back turned to the man.

“And I couldn’t stop my baby sister from dying. But if I could go back, take a year of suffering away from my family, our friends, I would in an instant. If we could’ve just pretended things were okay-”

“Like Ian did.” Anthony turned to him. “Did you convince him to keep it a secret?”

“No. I just . . . didn’t tell him not to. I helped him, too. I wrote out a fake prescription for a low blood pressure medicine that didn’t exist, just to fool you.”

“In May.” Anthony recalled. “You sick bastard.”

He stared at him coldly, shaking with anger.

“Ian fainted in front of me. He was barely breathing, I thought he was gonna die in my fucking car. And you helped him cover that up?”

“I’m sorry.” He called out, his facial expression full of pain. “I thought-”

“I don’t fucking care what you thought!” Anthony yelled. “You helped him when he was sick, out of his head! He made a stupid decision and no one in the world tried to talk him out of it!”

“You don’t understand!” Marrow yelled back, tears in his eyes. For so long he tried to appear emotionless towards patients, only comforting and supportive, and unwillingly pitying in front of Ian. “You don’t know what it’s like to see some kid you barely know remind you so much of someone you loved and lost. To watch someone go from a healthy looking man, broken by bad news, to the boy you had to drive home because he was on the verge of collapsing, to see his house emptied out, prepared for death. I just wanted to spare his family some pain!”

“You didn’t, asshole!” Anthony shot back. “If I knew back in January, when he found out, then I could’ve prepared myself! We could have tried to help him!”

“It was too late to help him! He was too late for chemo and radiation, and a bunch of surgeries had less than 50 percent of a chance to help him, and they were too expensive, he wasn’t covered for them by his insurance, there was nothing that could be done!” He retorted, the tears starting to spill down his cheeks.

“Telling me! That’s what could’ve been done! So I could get used to living without him just a tiny fucking bit, so I could wake up without wanting to kill myself as badly as I want to do now, so he didn’t have to say the shit he did in a stupid little note! He said he loved me, maybe I could have been with him!” That last bit was a truth he’d not yet revealed to himself, and he would’ve pondered it if the argument didn’t rush forward.

“I don’t control my patients, Mr. Padilla, I-”

“Shut the fuck up about wanting to help him! You procrastinated, that’s what you did, you dropped the truth on us at the last second because you wanted to delay the pain, but you only made things worse!” He was breathing deeply, seething with anger.

“No, Anthony.” Marrow replied quietly, gone from enraged to stoic. “Ian did that. I only helped. He’s the one you want to yell at.”

And just like that, Anthony’s anger was gone, too. Because he did want to yell at Ian, he wanted to scream, but in the end he wanted Ian to say he was sorry, for them to hug it out and sit down and play video games and for everything to be okay again. But they could never.

“I’m sorry. I really am. Ian was a good man. But at least you understand why I did what I did.” Marrow sighed, then ran a hand through his hair. “Goodnight, Anthony. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

And he walked past him into the parking lot, not looking him in the eye. 

***

_In the car, the sun shining, Ian stretched comfortably beside him. Anthony smiled fondly, then got up the nerve to ask what he’d been wondering about all day._

_“Ian?”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Do you like her?” Anthony felt his chest grow tight, worried about his answer._

_“Yeah, totally, I think she’s cool.” He responded, looking out the window, but something in his voice prevented Anthony from sighing in relief._

_“Are you sure? I really want you to like who I’m dating . . . or, at least, who I’m falling for.” Anthony, stopped at a light, looked over to him, and he stood straighter in his chair and removed his sunglasses._

_“Anthony, I would tell you if I didn’t like her. I think she’s cool, honestly. I wouldn’t lie to you like that, I love you.” But that usual little sparkle in his eye wasn’t there._

_“Thanks, man.” Anthony said, and as the light turned green, he pondered why the sparkle was gone. Maybe Ian just realized they were finally growing up; he always had a penchant for being young._

Outside the church, it started to pour. Anthony stood alone and wiped rain and tears from his cheek.

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of drama today

When he read fanfiction about them (not that he commonly did, he only did so out of rare curiosity) he stumbled across the occasional story where one of them died, one of them was suicidal, so on and so forth, and he’d always laugh a bit before reading those, thinking they were too sad to actually happen. But when he read these tales, they’d always say something like ‘he felt his life leaving him’ or ‘he felt himself fade away’ when one of the characters committed suicide. And it was cliche, of course, but now, waking up, going through life, that’s how he would describe his feelings. Like everything was evaporating from his, all his emotions leaving from under his skin like steam, dissipating into the air. He was dying, ever so slowly. 

He had to start his day working on set, something he really didn’t want to do. He was scared to go after the church incident the day previous, when, following a screaming match outside with Ian’s doctor, Anthony had to text Kalel requesting her to meet him outside, and she drove them home, he wiping tears from his face and explaining nothing. And, of course, his coworkers were suspicious of something, and knowing them, the truth would be demanded.

Walking into their office building, where they filmed most videos since Ian passed away and his house was no longer theirs, Drew caught his eyes immediately, and though he looked down in avoidance, he heard his name being called.

“Anthony. Anthony!” Drew yelled to him. “We need to have a word. Your office?”

“Sure.” Anthony answered, suppressing a groan. Drew walked into the hardly used office, and Anthony followed, a tense feeling in the air. Looking around, he noted how many people were avoiding his gaze, staring at their shoes with hardened expressions. Entering the room and closing the door behind him, he looked to Drew, whose back was turned to him as he stood at the window, looking out at the cloudy sky.

“Stars go down when there’s a scandal.” Drew said. “Please tell me we don’t have a scandal on our hands, Ant.”

“Anthony.” He corrected him, voice hard. “And no, no scandal.”

“Really?” He turned to him, looking patronizing. “Because we all heard what Franklin was saying at the memorial service last night. And it sounded like a scandal brewing. So please, Anthony, fess up before I abandon ship.”

Anthony stood there silently, trying to recall what the Deacon had said in his little speech, trying to figure out what he had said to make them realize that Ian was in love with him.

“So what did he say?” He asked after several long moments of silence. “What tipped us off?”

“Ian donated to the church for several months before he died. Why would he do that if he didn’t know he was dying?” Drew’s eyes were accusatory, but Anthony was too surprised by the question to respond.

“Wait, what?” Anthony questioned in shock.

“Jesus Christ, we’re not idiots, we all have eyes. He was obviously sick, but we thought he didn’t want to talk about it, or that you guys were dealing with it. But now I figure you’ve known all along.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Anthony said, then shook his head. “Sorry, I thought you were gonna bring up the other scandal.”

“So there’s more than one scandal? Great, just great.” He threw his arms up in frustration. “I quit, just to let you know.”

“Like I care. Take everyone with you while you’re at it.” Anthony replied, voice raised slightly with frustration.

“Fuck.” Drew turned away from him, hand rubbing his eyes. “Fuck. You need to tell me what’s going on. Please, man, I’m trying to help.”

“You’re trying to help yourself.” He gave him a sad little smile. “If Smosh goes under because I snap, you’re out of the job.”

“No, okay, no. I’m trying to understand why you and Ian didn’t tell all of us he was dying even though we’ve done nothing but support you two!” He clenched his fists.

“I don’t know.” Anthony answered loudly.

“Bullshit!”

“I don’t know! I didn’t know!” He yelled louder. The words were just a dismissal in his eyes, but Drew had a sudden look of realization in his, and a sadness he hadn’t seen lately, save in his own mirror.

“You didn’t know, did you?” He asked, astonished. “Ian didn’t tell you he was dying?”

“I-I-” Anthony spluttered, shock keeping him from answering.

“Jesus fucking Christ, he lost his goddamn marbles.” Drew looked almost shocked to death, his face gone pale and his eyes wide.

“Shut the hell up.” Anthony said, breaking into a sweat as panic started to grab hold of him.

“He couldn’t handle the fact that he was dying, so he just didn’t tell anyone. He went batshit crazy.” Drew said, adding it up, and Anthony felt ashamed when he started tearing up.

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up, you didn’t know him.” He sniffed and paced about the room.

“Oh I didn’t, I get that now. Because I thought he would be brave about it, actually have the balls to tell people-”

“Well he wasn’t! He wasn’t brave, he was scared!” Anthony stopped and yelled.

“And you’re defending him! The fuck is that about, man? He lied to you for months, you should be furious! You don’t even know exactly why he didn’t tell, maybe he had a goddamn death wish!”

“Fuck you! God, Drew, fuck you!” He screamed, knowing it could be heard by nearly all his coworkers through the thin walls, but not quite caring. Drew was right, of course; all this time later, he still didn’t fully understand Ian’s actions. Denial, sadness, anger, love, he knew all that was happening in Ian’s head, plus more, but he couldn’t add it all together to make it fit just right. The last six months of Ian’s life, hell, the last few years, were a mystery to him. He had no idea who his friend truly was, what he really thought and felt. It was all a lie.

“No, man, fuck you, because you know I’m right! You know you shouldn’t defend him, but you do anyway! This whole thing is weak, Anthony, it’s fucking pathetic watching this!”

“I’m not pathetic, neither was Ian! We were . . . Jesus, I don’t know, maybe we are, but I just need some time to figure out what’s going on.” His voice had gone slightly more silent, but was still loud, and wavering a bit.

“We don’t have time for you to have an existential crisis, Anthony, do it on your own time. We need to keep Smosh afloat.”

“Fuck Smosh. Fuck it. Fuck the fans, fuck the videos, fuck everyone who works here, including our shitty replacements for Ian.” Anthony stood defiant, tears falling down his cheeks. “I don’t give a shit anymore. I don’t want to be a part of this bullshit place anymore.”

“Is this our other scandal, then? That you’re having doubts?” Drew questioned, and the answer burst from Anthony’s mouth before he could think of stopping it.

“He loved me! He was in love with me! And he settled for Mel and never told me because he thought he was protecting me!” Anthony expected shock, anger maybe, but not confirmation.

“No fucking way!” He yelled back sarcastically, startling Anthony. “I had no fucking clue, Anthony, not one! Because no one here ever saw the way he looked at you or the way he touched you or how goddamn blind you were! Jesus, half the fans knew, you oblivious fuck!”

“Don’t, just don’t.” He hid his grimace with his hand as tears fell even more rapidly down his face, but Drew pushed on.

“One big fucking secret, huh, Anthony, such a huge one that everyone practically knew except you did, just like his cancer. How the fuck did you not see what was right in front of you?”

“I love him. I love him back, Drew, I feel like an idiot for not getting it in my head until now. And it’s too fucking late now, it’s too late! I’m gonna know that every day for the rest of my life, Drew, and Jesus fucking Christ do I wish I could stop feeling like this. I don’t know what’s going on, I just need to know, I just want it to be like it was!” His throat was sore, his eyes red, his head ached and his face was dripping with tears. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d screamed so hard.

“Well that’s not happening. We have to move on.” Drew gave him the same look his mother used to give him when he came back from school with bad grades, or when he went one too many days without cleaning his room; the disappointment was coming off him in bounds. “I quit.”

“If you let me fire you, you can get severance.” Anthony mumbled, wiping his face.

“I don’t want one more cent from you.” His expression hardened. “I’m done clinging to the ship, I’ll take my chances in the water.”

And with that, he charged out, yet another reminder of how alone Anthony felt. He stood still a moment, then walked out of the room, seeing everyone quickly avoid their eyes and fake conversation amongst themselves, and turned to the person closest, Zach.

“He quit. I’m . . . on a leave of absence. Work around it, or honestly, don’t, either’s fine by me.” He said to him, the whole office deathly silent with everyone’s ears straining to hear more. But they heard nothing except Anthony’s steps out of the door.

***

He’d driven all the way back to his house fighting tears, only having a good sob when he parked in the driveway. He felt guilty and alone and empty, only wishing he could stop all the madness. When he finally wiped his eyes, cleared his throat, and walked into his home, he walked quickly past Kalel and into his office, sitting in the chair in front of his computer. It was here that he learned that Ian had died, here where he read the note and realized what Ian felt for him. 

He trudged back into the living room, a question bumping around in his head. Kalel was sewing something, but stopped to look up at him, and then put the garment down in concern.

“Were you crying?” She stood. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you know?” Anthony asked, ignoring her question.

“Did I know what?” She took a step towards him, but he took a step back.

“That Ian loved me. Because you read the note, and then you just never mentioned it again, like it meant nothing to you. You weren’t angry or surprised like I was, you barely reacted.”

“You were a wreck, Anthony, I was trying to help you.” She said gently, reaching out to touch him, but he didn’t move closer to her so she could.

“Tell me the truth. You knew, didn’t you.” Anthony stared at her, watching her sigh and the features in her face becoming even softer.

“We looked at you the same way.” She dropped her arm. “But he did it when he thought no one was looking.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” He questioned, feeling exhausted and light-headed.

“You never would’ve reciprocated those feelings, babe. You could never love him the way he loved you.”

“You’re wrong.” He said, giving her a hardened look, and he saw whatever hope she had leave her. “Pack a bag, Kristen.”

“What?” She looked lost and confused, but at the same time, as though she knew exactly what was happening. Knew that it was ending.

“Pack a bag. Leave. It’s over.”

“No. No, Anthony. You can’t leave me for him, he’s dead.” Her voice cracked, and she was sad and desperate.

“I know that, actually, I know you all enjoy reminding me every damn second of every damn day, but I’m fully aware of it.” He shook his head. “Just leave. I don’t want to do this with you anymore.”

“Please, sweetheart, whatever you’re going through, whatever you feel for him, we can work it out. It’ll be okay, I promise.” She stepped over to him and tried to hold his hands, but he pushed his away from hers.

“I don’t want to work it out. Take some stuff with you, get a hotel room or something, I’ll tell you when to come back and get the rest. Go.” He couldn’t look at her. He just wanted to be alone.

“This isn’t over. I’m not giving up on us.” But she walked away, eyes void of tears. 

He sat on the couch as he listened to her pack in the other room, hearing the rustle of clothes and zipping of bags. He was so tired, numb, devoid of logic. Her leaving was a bad idea, the wrong decision, and though deep inside he was aware of that, he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. He just wanted everything to be over, for the universe to just collapse on itself so he wouldn’t have to care about anything any longer.

“Anthony?” Kalel called to him as she walked into the living room. He stayed silent. “I’ll call in a few days, give you some time to think. Okay?”

When he sat without looking at her or responding, she sighed, and walked out, carrying a suitcase and a meowing cat carrier with her. She closed the door with a resounding snap.

“Is this how you felt?” He murmured to the air. “Is this how lonely you were?”

And though he was met with silence, he knew the answer; at least Ian had him to pretend things were okay. He just had more and more of nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commentary on my tumblr kiddos :))


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony has a hot brother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah no idea what Anthony's actual family is like, Lee isn't based on any of them, I'm sure his irl family is very lovely. also hit up my tumblr jackiestolz if you're in the mood for some commentary.

Though Anthony intended on spending the next few days alone with his self-pity, the day following nearly quitting his job and his big breakup with Kalel he got a phone call from his mother, worried that he’d not paid his brother his monthly visit. Though Anthony desperately wanted to stay in his house alone, thinking of everything he lost and all he pushed away, he knew he couldn’t disobey his mother like that, so he took the car and drove to his brother’s place, hating himself for caving in to his mother the whole way.

He avoided talking about his brother to everyone, except Ian of course, he being the only one who could make him feel even slightly okay with the situation. His brother, Lee, was only nineteen, but had already gotten himself in so much trouble in his life. Gangs, drugs, prison, now living in a reform house as a neighbor to recovering addicts and victims of abuse. Anthony visited him once a month to see how he was, usually alone but sometimes with Ian or Kalel, and then left him and every thought of him there when he left.

It was hard, knowing his brother grew up like this. Only a few years younger, but so much different. He recalled his descent into dark places, knowing he couldn’t stop it. He recalled the day Lee was shot, and he thought his brother would die, and the fear in him.

_“I’m starving, Ian, wanna order pizza after this?” Anthony asked his friend as they played their video game together._

_“Sure. Would your mom mind?” Ian asked, shooting an alien._

_“Nah, she won’t be home ‘till late tonight.”_

_They played their game for a few minutes more, feeling the casual bond of friendship between them, and for a moment, the only problems in the world were the aliens on their screen. Ian glanced over and gave him a fond smile, and he returned it, feeling a warmth in his chest. They were nineteen, just getting started on Youtube, but they felt as though they were on top of the world._

_And then they heard the gunshot._

_They looked at each other at once, both terrified, then paused the game and ran down the stairs._

_“Hey, hey!” Ian yelled, and Anthony saw someone running out the door._

_“Jesus fuck.” Anthony said, looking around wildly. “Do you see a bullet hole anywhere? What did he shoot?”_

_“I don’t -- shit!” Ian noticed something, swore, and rushed behind the counter, beyond Anthony’s viewpoint._

_He quickly followed Ian, panic causing his chest to tighten, and then came to a halt, staring at the ground in immeasurable horror. Ian was crouched over a tiny frame, that of his younger brother, and blood was pooling underneath him and staining his clothing. Anthony felt as though he was going to faint or be sick, but terror paralyzed him._

_“Ant, call for an ambulance, I’ll put pressure on the wound, okay?” Ian pressed his hands onto Lee’s side, his pale skin instantly turning red, and Lee remained motionless, eyes closed and face pale. Anthony didn’t move._

_“Ant? It’s okay, he’s gonna be okay, but you have to call 911.” Ian said to him, his voice raised as though trying to get through._

_“Ian.” Anthony whimpered, feeling his lower lip quiver. He was sure his whole body was shaking, and he felt weak at the knees. Ian clearly recognized this, and stood quickly, leaned over, and grabbed Anthony’s hand._

_“It’s gonna be okay. I promise. You staunch the blood, I’ll dial the phone.” He helped Anthony kneel to the ground, his knees soaking with the hot blood. He handed Anthony a nearby kitchen towel, and Anthony pressed it to his brother’s soaked shirt, watching it turn red. He looked at Lee’s torso, barely moving, but he was still breathing._

_“I need an ambulance, it’s an emergency. Our brother’s been shot, he’s unconscious-”_

_Anthony heard Ian talking on the phone at the other end of the room, and he felt a grimace on his face as tears began to drip down his cheeks. His hands were shaking beyond belief, his whole body was humming, he could barely breathe. He’d never been so terrified in his entire life._

_“Ant, they said to keep applying pressure, they’re on their way.” Ian returned, then crouched down in front of his shaking, crying friend. “Hey. Look at me. He’s gonna be okay.”_

_He grabbed another dish towel, dried his hands slightly, and touched Anthony’s face, a bit rougher than he wanted to, but he needed to control his friend._

_“He’s going to be fine. You need to breathe. Breathe.” Ian commanded, looking directly into his eyes, and they let out a breath at the same time. Anthony took a deep breath in, then looked over to his brother, and his breath came out shaky._

_“Ant.” He leaned in, their foreheads touching, and Anthony felt the terror still thick in his veins. “You need to calm down.”_

_“I’m scared.” He whispered, chest tight._

_“Me too. But we need to help Lee, and we can’t do that when we’re shitting ourselves in horror.” Ian said, and Anthony gave a watery chuckle. Ian moved upwards unexpectedly and kissed the top of Anthony’s forehead, and though Anthony blushed, he was sure it was more for comfort than it was out of love. Besides, Ian definitely didn’t feel that way about him._

_They sat next to each other, breathing heavy, staunching blood, and waiting, and though Anthony was terrified, he felt infinitely better knowing Ian was with him._

Anthony sighed. One of Lee’s friends shot him over a debt, and Lee ended up almost dying for it. Now the kid was serving time in juvie. They were both only fourteen.

He signed in at the front desk and made his way to room 33, where his brother greeted him. Now nineteen, the same age Anthony was when he saw Lee so hurt, he went from oddly small to taller than his older brother, at six feet. They didn’t look related at first glance; Anthony had dark hair versus Lee’s light brown, dark brown eyes against his brother’s green eyes, tanner skin that had recently paled to the same shade as his brother. Their bone structure was different, their muscle matter, the way they stood and spoke. No one could easily believe they were brothers.

“So how’s my favorite big brother?” Lee asked as he sat on the couch in his tiny living room.

“To be honest, it’s been the worst month of my life.” Anthony said, standing, and went around prodding cabinets and peaking in drawers.

“Come on, Anthony, you know the counselors do that already.” He said, waving his hand as though asking Anthony to sit with him. “And I’m sorry about your month. Mom told me your friend died.”

“Mom doesn’t know the half of it.” Anthony sighed, still combing over the place. Reaching into a coffee table drawer and touching the top, he sighed again. “And what’s this?”

“Dammit, Anthony, I need to protect myself if some of the old guys come around. Now sit down, tell me what’s up.”

“Everyone who visits you has to sign in with the receptionist.” Anthony replied, grabbing the taped object and pulling it out of the drawer. “A gun, really?”

“You never know.” Lee shrugged, and Anthony wondered how anyone could be so permanently cocky.

“I’m taking this with me.” He said as he sat down across from his younger brother. “And I’ll tell you about Ian if you want me to.”

“Yeah, how did he bite it?” He smirked, and Anthony glared at him.

“Have some respect, he saved your life once. And it was terminal cancer.”

“Jesus. Sorry, bro, that really blows.” He leaned back, the pity not apparent on his face, surprising and relieving the man who expected it. Instead there was a distant sadness on his face, and for the first time in ages, Anthony related to his brother.

“You don’t even know how bad it is.” Anthony leaned forward, trusting his brother more than usual. “We put out a new video eight days after he died. I have no control over the company anymore, I took a break yesterday, too.”

“A break?” He leaned forward as well. “Are you quitting Smosh?”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “Probably. Have you been watching, have you seen his replacements? They’re awful, I can’t believe they decided to just throw some strangers in like nothing ever happened.”

“That sucks ass. But what about Ian, man, he would’ve wanted you to keep doing Smosh, right?”

“I don’t know, he didn’t mention. Maybe, but I don’t want to do it without him. I can’t.” Anthony looked down at the cheap carpeting, then at Lee’s worn out shoes, thinking he ought to buy him a new pair.

“All the angsty fan-fiction I’ve read isn’t so funny now.” Lee said, leaning down further and resting his elbows on his lap.

“They were right, too.” Anthony mumbled, not sure whether or not he wanted Lee to hear it.

“About what?” Lee asked, tilting his head slightly. Anthony sucked his breath in, then looked up at his brother.

“Ian was in love with me. He didn’t tell me until the end. And I love him back.”

“Holy shit.” He sat up straight. “Holy -- you’re gay?”

“No. I just . . . it’s Ian. I think about him nonstop. I want to eat ice cream with him and lie next to him and kiss his forehead. How could I not love him?” He stared at the ceiling then.

“Do you think about him like, like sexually?” Lee stared at him with an odd fascination. Anthony rolled his eyes.

“I had a dream about him.”

“Shit. It’s real then. Gay sex and everything. But what about Kalel?” He looked genuinely concerned now, and Anthony couldn’t think of a time when he’d been so invested. Usually he just listened to a few anecdotes, thanked him for visiting, and yawned.

“We broke up yesterday, she’s getting her stuff in a few days.” He shook his head. 

“What? Who dumped who?”

“I broke up with her.” Anthony sighed, not knowing if he should talk about it.

“Because you love Ian. And you can’t be with her if you love him.” He said with perfect understanding. This was what made it apparent that they were brothers; though they differed in looks, actions, and opinions, they understood each other beautifully.

“Yeah.” He nodded, wondering what his brother would say next.

“That’s insane. And illogical. And self-detrimental.” He leaned forward, brow raised and voice strong, trying to tell Anthony what he was saying was important.

“Nice vocab word.” Anthony answered, and Lee smiled for the first time.

“My therapist taught me. But look, man, you loved and supported me when all the shit I did could be described with those three words. So I’m here for you.” He nodded to Anthony, and for the first time in a while, he felt an ounce of relief.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Anthony smiled softly, not used to his brother displaying emotions. “I should get going.”

“Yeah, okay. Come back soon though, don’t do the monthly thing like usual.” They stood up and hugged, Lee clapping him on the back. “And it’s totally okay that you like cock, I’m still here for you.”

“Shut up.” Anthony smiled, knowing he was joking around. He grabbed the gun from the coffee table and began to walk out the door, tucking it into the back of his jeans, when Lee spoke once more.

“You be careful with that, okay?” He said with a sad smile and a wavering voice, somehow still looking cheeky enough to mask it. Anthony turned and looked at him sadly. He knew.

“Sure.” He agreed, not quite a lie, and walked out.

He would be careful with the gun. He would be very careful shooting himself.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> killin all ur faves

When Anthony looked out the window that morning, the sun was shining, there was a perfect breeze, kids were playing on their lawns. Outside, the world kept going, but inside, the place felt paralytically cold for no reason, and oh so empty. He wondered if this was how Ian felt towards the end, if it was this lonely and tiring. The only difference was that Ian didn’t choose to give everything up; it was all taken from him. Anthony felt that made him infinitely braver, even if his final acts of lying and never admitting to being ill were cowardly. 

He was sitting on his bed, feeling bigger than it ever did when Kalel lied in it next to him, staring at Charlie's cage in a sad silence, not really thinking of anything, just feeling. He wondered if the pet noticed that Ian wasn’t there anymore; he wondered if Charlie would notice when he left, too.

A ring of the doorbell interrupted his thoughts, and he trudged to his front door, not eager to answer who he expected to be Cheryl, Kalel, or Kris, all of whom left him a voicemail in the morning asking if he was alright. He really couldn’t care less that he didn’t look alright at all, with his usually straightened hair a mess, and stubble on his chin.

“Hana.” He said with a sigh as he opened the door and saw the young intern. “Let me guess, Zach sent you to convince me to come back to work.”

“Contrary to appearance, he’s not that stupid. He knows you, he gets you’re not coming back right now. He sent me to give you the leftover mail Ian had in his garage.” She said, and Anthony frowned.

“His mother got everything left in that house.” Anthony replied, staring at her. She looked so much like Ian that it hurt a little.

“She gave us the mail, I’m supposed to give it to you. If you don’t want it we can recycle it all.” She turned to leave, but he reached out and touched her arm.

“No, no, I’ll take it.”

They carried in the few boxes of letters and packages from her truck and set them down in the office, then walked out to the kitchen.

“Have a good day.” He said to her, expecting her to return the sentiment and leave, but she spoke other words.

“Mr. Padilla . . . we all heard that argument two days ago.” She shuffled awkwardly.

“And? Should I really care that you guys know I love him?” He had nothing left to lose, really, he didn’t think he would be too damaged from them knowing.

“We’re not the only ones who know. Someone took the security footage and put it online, the fans are going crazy.” She looked worried, but Anthony felt numb.

“What kind of crazy?” He asked nonchalantly.

“The ‘what in the ever-loving fuck is going on’ kind of crazy. It’s mass hysteria, everyone on Youtube’s been talking about it.” She still looked concerned, but Anthony was too preoccupied with all the other sadness and disappointment in his life. He didn’t even know how to take in the new information.

“Smosh isn’t going to survive this.” She said when he stayed silent. “Ian’s gone forever, you’ve left -- maybe permanently -- Drew was motivating the employees and now no one wants to stay, Zach’s job hunting for Christ’s sakes. The fandom is panicky, emotional, everyone’s talking, it’s even spread to mainstream media, there’s a Huff-Po article about all of this.” She looked increasingly panicked, but Anthony was barely fazed.

“I’m gonna hurt them. The fans. No matter what I do, it’s going to be painful for them.” He sighed. “Now am I gonna do a lot of slightly painful things, or one really painful one? And really, how much should I care about these people?”

“You should care a lot. As much as any person can. What you need to do right now is care, Anthony, you need to love more than you’ve ever needed to.” She was sad and desperate, and a part of Anthony just wanted to console her, but he said aloud the predominant thought in his mind.

“You look just like him.” He said, exhaustion filling him. Same hair color, similar eyes, nearly exact bone structure. It hurt to look.

“He’s dead. You can’t keep going like this, he wouldn’t have wanted it.” She reached out and touched his arm, and he wished the warmth that came with her hand could have saved him.

“I didn’t always do what he wanted. I’m not starting now. Have a good day.” And he saw any small trace of hope leave her blue eyes.

“You too.” She nodded and walked out the door.

With a heavy heart, he walked to the office, then sat on the floor next to the boxes of mail. Grabbing an envelope, he tore in, pulling out a poorly drawn picture and a happy letter. May first, 2012. That was before Ian fainted, before Anthony thought Ian was actually in trouble. The letter was happy, casual, something he and Ian would’ve laughed over a minute and then moved on, cracking a few more jokes at the camera. And now he’s sitting here, reading alone.

He sighed, and thought of him, thought of how he hid what he felt just to save him from despair. The day Frankie Mandini called them gay in high school came to mind.

_“Hey, fags!” He heard a voice as he stood with Ian and some friends in the hallway. He turned to see Frankie walking away, laughing at them with some football players._

_He sighed and looked at Ian, knowing his face was bright red. He’d never felt so embarrassed in his whole life; how dare he assume what he and Ian felt for each other, how dare he made it seem like it would be terrible if it were true. He was so tired of the harassment, of people thinking he and Ian loved each other when the truth was they were just great friends. Even though it shouldn’t have bothered him, it made him feel degraded._

_“Wait here.” He heard Ian mutter angrily to him, and he felt himself turn even more red. He was probably going to embarrass them further._

_He turned to watch Ian storm over, most likely to give Mandini a furious piece of his mind, but instead he grabbed the older kid and punched him in the face, knocking him over. He threw himself on top of the kid and continued punching him, causing everyone around him to jump back in alarm. Then, quickly, everyone surrounded him and started cheering._

_Anthony raced over and gave a shout of delight as well, no longer red in the face. Ian was a hero. Watching Mandini fruitlessly defend himself, he knew they would never be taunted again._

_“I take it back, man, I take it back!” Frankie yelled, and Ian stopped, blood from his nose dripping off his fist._

_“Let’s go, Ant.” Ian said finally, hopping off Frankie and walking away with his friend in revered silence. They cleaned the blood off him in the bathroom and happily celebrated their success, especially when no one told the principal that Ian was the one who did it; it turns out they didn’t really care, and that in reality everyone disliked Mandini for being the bully he was._

Anthony sighed and pulled out another letter. It was a picture of him and Ian, both standing next to girls and smiling. Ian would’ve been glad they both got dates instead of one of them crying in the corner of the page.

_“Dude, I am so pissed.” Anthony said, walking in and looking over to his friend, who was standing in front of the fridge. He didn’t really knock on Ian’s door anymore, he just let himself in._

_“What’s wrong?” He asked, grabbing two cans of coke and handing one to his friend._

_“I was supposed to meet up with Tyler in the mall, and while I was there I saw Candy making out with Eddie!” He was seething with anger._

_“Eddie Hansen or Eddie the ears?” Ian asked, and Anthony groaned._

_“That’s not the point, Ian, the point is she cheated on me.” And when Ian raised his brow, he added, “Eddie the ears.”_

_“She cheated on you with that guy? Disgrace. Obviously she’s not someone you would ever want to date anyway, it’s a good thing you found out this quickly.” He nodded and took a sip of his soda._

_“You’re not helping.” Anthony fumed, and Ian sat down at the table, turning to him._

_“It’s high school, Ant, flipping out over some girl you barely know would be pretty pathetic. Dump her and move on.”_

_“It’s not that easy.” Anthony said, sitting next to him. Ian gave him a sad sort of look he didn’t quite understand._

_“I know.” He nodded. “But I’m here for you.”_

_He reached out and touched Anthony’s arm, and he relaxed a bit._

_“You call Candy, I’ll get the cat’s litter box.” He stood, and Anthony stopped him, reaching out and touching his hip._

_“Why are you getting cat litter?” He asked, fingertips lightly touching the denim of Ian’s jeans._

_“To put in Eddie’s car, duh.” He answered, cheeky, but stood awkwardly for a moment before Anthony remembered to let go of his pants. He walked away, and for some reason Anthony felt tension in the air, but he shrugged it off and prepared to call his about-to-be-ex-girlfriend._

He shook his head and threw the paper to the side. Honestly, how did he not see what was going on. He picked up a small box and tore the tape off, removing the contents bundled in pink wrapping paper. He picked up a note -- May 17, 2012. The note told him that some fans sent Ian chocolates, Pokemon cards, and a mug that had a pink frosted donut on it (he assumed that was the one that felt like bubble wrap underneath the pink paper). Jesus, the day Ian fainted. If he hadn’t dealt with everything else, he would’ve called it the worst day of his life.

_He was talking to the camera man about how he ought to move in the next scene they were doing. Ian had been off all day, but that wasn’t on his mind at the time. He was just doing his usual work._

_“Ian!” He heard someone call out, and he turned, not sure what to expect. He saw a few men moving to the spot where he last saw Ian, at the end of the hallway, and then, looking down, saw his friend lying motionless on the ground. Shock and panic hit him simultaneously, creating a feeling of fear he hadn’t gotten since the day he saw his brother lying on the ground in a similar way._

_“Ian!” He yelled, running over faster than he had in a long time. The crew parted instantly, and he knelt next to his friend, whose face was pale and eyes were fluttering. He put one of his hands on Ian’s chest, the other on his arm, and shook him roughly, wanting to wake him up. He wouldn’t be still this time, like when his brother was hurt and Ian saved him. No matter how scared he was, he had to return the favor._

_“Ian! Ian, wake up!” He called out to him, and he opened his eyes fully, face slightly green. He recognized the look on his face as one he had the times they got a little too drunk, or when Anthony tried to take care of him when he was sick. Over his shoulder, he called out to the crew: “Get a bucket!”_

_But Ian turned on his side and threw up anyway. Seeing the vomit, though, he jumped back in alarm, removing his hands from his friend. It was blood and bile, violently red, which meant something was deeply wrong. He fell onto his back again, and closed his eyes, and Anthony said his next words in a shaky voice._

_“Okay. Okay. You,” He pointed to the largest man there. “Help me, let's get him to the car.”_

_He maneuvered around and hooked his arms underneath Ian’s, then lifted him with the other man. Walking slowly to the car, Ian’s eyes closed and blood dripping down his chin, they remained in terrified silence. Getting him into the passenger seat, Anthony rushed to the other side and drove off immediately._

_He was so frightened that his hand shook almost too much to get the key into the ignition, and thoughts were flying and filling his head with random gibberish that he would not dare decipher. He clenched the steering wheel, knuckles going white, and looked over to his friend, trying to calm his nerves._

_“Okay.” He let out a shaky breath. “Ian? Ian, can you hear me?”_

_His eyes opened slightly, and Anthony took that as a sign to keep talking._

_“I'm gonna take you to the hospital, okay, Ian? Just stay awake, just focus, please Ian." When Ian’s eyes closed again, he felt the fear return to him in bounds. “No, no, no, come on, you’re okay. Stay awake.”_

He didn’t want to recall the trip to the hospital, the one he remembered in exact detail. He didn’t want to recall talking to him, sometimes in a low voice, sometimes whining, sometimes in a scream, but always with an edge of panic in his words. He didn’t want to recall the begging.

_“Stay awake, Ian, please stay awake.” He said, almost whining, reaching over and grasping his friend’s hand. It was cold and clammy._

The yelling.

_“Please be okay. Please live, God please let him live.” It started raining. He switched on his wiper blades, feeling his cheeks burning._

The anguish.

_“Don’t throw up again, Ian, don’t vomit blood again. Please don’t. I just want things to be how they were, please let things be how they were.” His voice was wavering and shaking, there were tears all over his face. “Please. Please don’t leave me, Ian. I don’t know how I would live without you, I love you.”_

He pushed the note and the objects in the box aside, wiping his face when he realized he’d cried over the thought. He picked up another letter, looking at the date without opening it. Monday, June 11. One of the last times they opened mail.

_“Well, that’s the last one.” Anthony mumbled thankfully, rubbing his hands. He wasn’t happy about all the paper cuts he’d received._

_“Hey, I just saw a firefly.” Ian said, ignoring him to look out the glass door. They sat in silence for a moment until they saw the bug light up briefly, and Anthony looked at Ian, who smiled._

_“Wanna go outside? Film our ending?” Anthony suggested, but Ian’s smile left him, and he looked down._

_“Nah, door’s too far away.” He said, trying to sound passive, but Anthony decided not to take no for an answer._

_“Come on.” He stood, walked over to Ian, and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go out, just for a minute. Summer used to be your favorite.”_

_Ian smiled wearily, then allowed Anthony to pull him up, standing with shaky legs. They walked outside together, standing in the cool Summer air. They looked around a moment at the fireflies, listening to the hums and chirps of bugs._

_“Alright.” Anthony said to the camera after their silent moment. “Now that we've completed our insane amount of mail opening, we're gonna chill out here, in this forest." He pointed the camera to the shrub behind them. "Oh, oh wait, is that, is that a bear?"_

_“Yeah, I think it's a suburban California bear." Ian noted from a few feet away, a strange smile on his face._

_"Those are the most dangerous of all! Ah!" Anthony screamed, shaking the camera and acting as though he’d fallen over. He pointed the camera to Ian._

_I'll be fine guys, I'm a bear whisperer." Ian said to the audience. "Okay, leave any comments or suggestions for Ian is Bored in the comment section below, see you next Thursday bitches!"_

_Anthony turned off the camera, quietly mentioning he could only stay a few minutes before returning to Kalel. He was stressed out of his mind, thinking Ian was so sick with the ‘low blood pressure.’ He hated seeing him so pale and lonely, seeming so small when he was once such a large figure in his life. It was as though he was fading away._

_“I gotta go man, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Anthony said, suppressing a yawn._

_“Yeah, you too.” Ian replied, seeming just as tired._

_“I love you, okay?” He said as he turned away, patting Ian once on the shoulder, not even sure why he was compelled to add it._

_“I love you, too.” Ian said quietly as he walked to the door, though he sounded wounded._

_Anthony left without turning around or answering, but as he sat in his car, a thought occurred to him, the knowledge that he’d heard that voice on Ian before. Twice in high school, three more times in college. They were the times Ian seemed sad for no reason, the only times Anthony worried about more than the usual problems for Ian. The only times he worried Ian was going to kill himself._

_Now Ian wasn’t some sulking type, nor did he ever seem permanently depressed, but there were these moments. These long stretches of exhaustion. And Anthony never commented on them, never felt comfortable or never had the guts. But he kept his discontent hidden, and it passed. It always passed._

_He never asked about it, never, because he convinced himself Ian was strong, that drawing out whatever was happening would just damage him. Maybe he was just scared. He shook his head and turned the key in the ignition. He told himself everything would be fine, just like always. But he only half believed it._

That voice he heard when Ian sounded so wounded, he knew what it was now. It was an ‘I love you.’ Every time he heard it, the words he’d said were a variation of that. Ian was broken because he loved him.

“Fuck.” He whispered, tossing the letter aside. He stood clumsily and stepped over to his desk, opening the top right drawer. On top of the stack of papers rested Lee’s gun. Pulling it out, he set it on the desk, then reached for a crinkled little piece of paper, reading the words he’d memorized in the familiar handwriting he’d missed so much.

  _Anthony-_

   _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I'm leaving you. You'll never know how sorry I am. I don't want to go. I don't want it to end._

   _I never told you because I was scared. I didn't want things to change. I didn't want you to pity me, I didn't want everything to be weird, I didn't want our relationship to be ruined._

   _But then I waited awhile, then it was too long. And I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you from the pain. I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want to die miserable because of what I said or did to you. But I feel like shit, and I bet I would feel like shit whether you were with me right now or not. I should have told you. I should have warned you, I should have been a better friend._

   _I did the best I could, but I was blinded, because I was in love. In high school, God, I had such a crush on you, Ant, but I wasn't sure about anything, and then you were embarrassed, and then Frankie yelled at us- I decided to just force myself to like girls, to let you be happy. I just want you to be happy. But I can't protect you from everything, like I tried to with this cancer. It hurt to tell my mom, but it doesn't matter, because she deserved to know, like you deserved to know. You've been too good a friend not to know._

   _Please, don't stop going. Don't stop living. Grow up, get old. Be grateful for everything you have, because I wasn't, and now I have nothing._

   _Take care of Charlie for me._

   _I love you. And I'm so sorry._

   _\- Ian._

“Oh, Ian.” He murmured to himself. “I’m sorry.” He sighed. But it was hard to make peace when he was feeling every emotion in the world, all at once. He looked around the room; the sun shone in from the windows, and the dust in the air was visible, suspended particles floating but barely moving.

“But you were wrong.” He said bravely, looking out the window at the clear blue sky. “You should’ve told me. And I’ve hated you, and I’ve been afraid, and I haven’t understood, and I’ve defended you. And maybe if I went back, I’d do it all again. Or maybe I would’ve just torn the world apart, like I wanted to.

“And I don’t know.” He started, balling his fists, the note crunching in his right hand. 

“I don’t know if I would’ve returned the feelings if you told me how you felt when you were alive. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I knew you were dying.” He tucked the note into his pocket and picked up the gun.

“But the shit we’ve been through is ridiculous. We handled it wrong. You should’ve told me, I should’ve been less naive. We were in denial about so much, Ian, so much that we ruined each other.” He frowned at his shoes, tears coming back to his eyes as he began pacing around the room. He pushed forward.

“Do you hear me, asshole? You ruined me!” He walked out of the office, leaving the fan mail on the ground.

“You ruined my goddamn life!” He yelled to the ceiling. 

“You fucked me up!” He yelled to the windows.

He stood still, breathing heavy, half hoping he would hear Ian answer him.

“I can’t do what you asked me to do! I can’t grow up and get over this!” He broke his stiffness and wandered around his house, feeling slightly manic.

“There’s no moving on from this. And maybe it’s selfish or overdramatic. Maybe it’ll tear the fans apart. But I can’t keep going like this, and I’m not strong enough to change. Funny, we always thought I was the brave one.” He gave a watery chuckle, tears falling freely down his cheeks. He felt like he was choking, like he couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t end his speech as he picked up his pace stomping through the house.

“So I’m sorry, too, Ian. I’m sorry I’m leaving!” He waved the gun in his hand as he screamed, his voice high-pitched and going hoarse. Tears covered his face and his vision blurred.

“I’m sorry I don’t know whether or not I’ll see you again!” He ran down the hallway, wanting to tear things off the walls and out of drawers and fling them to the ground.

“I’m sorry I’m not going to take care of Charlie!” He screamed upward, his sanity slipping away as chaos reigned in his head.

“And Ian, I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t realize sooner, that you had to sound so heartbroken every damn time you said you loved me, and you couldn’t tell me how much!” He reached his room and spun around, deranged, not knowing what he was searching for, not knowing what he would find.

“Do you hear me? I’m leaving!” He was burning up. The hand that held the gun was sweaty. 

“I’m leaving!” He yelled again, and it came out like a sob. He turned to the cage on his dresser.

“Charlie, I’m leaving!” He wailed again. Then he paused.

“Charlie?” In the corner of his cage, there was no rustle, and he did not stir.

“Charlie?” Anthony called out again in a softer voice. The pet remained still.

He stepped over to the cage gingerly, his ears ringing now that the world fell silent save for his heavy, shaking breath. He opened the cage and looked to where Charlie laid amongst the bedding, and reached out with a trembling hand to pet him. 

His fur was coarse, and he was still, and Anthony felt nothing.

And then he saw himself crash to the floor, and he heard a wheeze escape his lips, and he felt a tightness in his chest and his hand lighten as he dropped the gun. He stared at it on the floor next to him, then let out a loud and wordless sob, a cry of longing to a world that wouldn’t answer.

He tucked his knees up to his chest and sobbed loudly, rocking back and forth on the carpet as tears cascaded down his face. He was broken, utterly fucking broken. In his sorrowful madness, all he wanted was someone to help him, all he wanted was to feel better.

He pulled out his phone, trying to stifle his crying for just a moment as he listened to the ringback tone.

“Anthony?” Kalel asked from the other end of the line. “What’s wrong?”

“Charlie.” His voice was scratchy and another sob escaped him. He looked over to his side and pulled a leg away from his chest, then kicked the gun under his bed.

“. . . I’m coming over.” Kalel said, and Anthony hung up, and continued to bawl.

***

Kalel came over and shooed Anthony into another room. He ended up in the office next to the fan mail, and slipped Ian’s note back into the desk drawer. She then wrapped Charlie in spare silk and put him in a shoebox, and got her garden trowel from the garage and went outside for awhile. Then she came back in, and Anthony heard her rustle with a garbage bag and Charlie’s cage before returning outside.

When he walked into the kitchen, he found her washing her hands in the sink, and stood in silence.

“He’s next to the daisies.” Kalel said softly, turning off the tap. She dried her hands, and Anthony kept quiet for a moment.

“I fucked up.” Anthony said quietly, and Kalel gave him a patient look. “I’m sorry.”

He paused.

“I don’t love Ian.” It didn’t matter if it was a lie, because he didn’t even know what was the truth. “I’m not leaving you for him.”

He paused again, and tears filled his eyes even though he thought he’d drained himself of them.

“Please come back.”

Kalel stepped over to him wordlessly, her skin shining golden from the pink and orange sunset streaming in from the windows. There was a tinge of sadness in the hope on her face, and Anthony knew it was for him; not for Ian and Charlie, but a special bit of care, just for him. For the first time, he was comforted by another’s pity.

“We’re gonna be okay, Anthony.” She said to him in the most gentle voice, and he leaned over and kissed her, tender but with a tenacity he hadn’t possessed in some time. He pulled her closer and held his hands firmly on her waist as he felt the softness of her lips and tasted her sweet skin. They stayed that way for awhile. 

“I know.” He whispered back to her, snaking his fingers up underneath her shirt, letting them dance against her warm body.

“Do you want to go to bed?” She asked him, smiling against his lips. He smiled back and looked down at her, their bodies still warm and entwined.

“Yeah.” He kissed her again. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha do you guys get the joke? charlie's next to the daisies, a reference to ian's dog, but because he broke up with mel who moved away and then he died, no one ever adopted her!! haha! good one! and commentary about the climax of this bad boy on my tumblr.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hardcore denial mode

Anthony woke up early. He took a shower, threw on a decent outfit, and straightened his hair. He made pancakes and cooed at Kabuki. He finished eating and left the rest out for Kalel before she even woke up.

He felt healthy.

He walked into his office, picked up the fan-mail he’d left on the ground, put it back in its box, and pushed it to the side. Then he turned on his computer and opened up Twitter. With this, he could no longer blot out all the awful things that had occurred. Every tweet, every message, every moment was dedicated to the calamity that had consumed all of Smosh. Anthony had yelled at Drew about not knowing Ian had cancer, and he told him he loved poor Ian.

He felt healthy, but that didn’t make him so.

He had been aloof, and he knew that, but it didn’t make him feel guilty. And maybe his detachment from the world should’ve made him feel that way, but his love for the fans had faded as much as his love for everyone else had. He sighed, and sent out some new tweets.

> @SmoshAnthony: I said some shit I didn’t mean. Sorry to anyone upset by it.
> 
> @SmoshAnthony: Taking a brief recess from Smosh.
> 
> @SmoshAnthony: Because I tried to kill myself last night.

It wasn’t quite a lie. The gun still sat beneath his bed, but it had never been fired. But if he wasn’t interrupted, it would have gone off. He would have died. And that was a frightening thing to think of, near death. _He almost died._  

“Honey?” Kalel called out from the hall, and he closed Twitter before she walked into the office, her phone in hand. “Cheryl’s calling. She was wondering if . . . well, if you’re not up to it you don’t have to.”

“What is it?” Anthony asked. He quickly shoved the thoughts of death from his mind, not wanting to think on them again.

“She wants to know if you can help her at Ian’s house. She’s just cleaning the rest of it and meeting the new owners.” Kalel bit her lip, and looked as though she expected Anthony to say no, but he nodded quickly and stood up.

“Yeah, I’d love to. I’ll leave right now.” He walked past her, smiled lightly at the pleasant surprise on her face, and kissed her cheek. Then he grabbed his keys and took off.

***

His drive over was light-hearted. He sang along to the radio and listened to the DJ gossip about the latest celebrity drama. He smiled when the weather report called for sun, and didn’t groan when he hit traffic. And he definitely didn’t think of Ian, or Charlie, or his attempted suicide. He just acted like things were fine, acted so well that that was his reality.

Cheryl was already at Ian’s house when he arrived. For a moment, as he walked to the door, he recalled that last time, he questioned if he should knock or just go in. Last time, he went in. This time, he knocked.

Cheryl opened the door with a kind smile. Anthony instantly noted that she looked even more older, more exhausted than the last time he saw her, at Ian’s memorial service. Jesus Christ, he thought he could handle this. He plastered on a smile and trudged through his greeting.

“Good morning, Cheryl.”

“Morning, Anthony dear, come inside.” She stood back for him to walk in, and he did so, though was taken aback when he saw the inside of the place. All the furniture was gone, all the paintings taken off the walls, the kitchen thoroughly cleaned. It looked exactly as it did the day he and Ian first saw it, though now with that different rug, the one not covered in his poor friend’s blood.

“I didn’t expect you to come, honestly.” Cheryl said behind him, and he became flustered for a moment.

“Well, I’ve been feeling better lately, so I thought I should.” Anthony stumbled through his response, a polite little lie. Sure, he felt better, but this was after yesterday evening’s astounding incidents.

“I’m sorry about Charlie.” She said with a look of pity, and Anthony felt discomfort stir briefly in his stomach.

“Thanks.” He replied, then moved to change the subject. “So what are we doing?”

“Oh, just the details now.” She looked around. “I’ve got some trinkets and whatnot to get rid of, some dusting to do, some papers to get in order. You could start by just letting me know what I should keep and throw away in those boxes over there.”

She pointed to some shoeboxes on the kitchen counter, and Anthony walked over to see a bunch of small, household objects and knickknacks piled in.

“I just . . . don’t know what was important to him, I guess.” She said behind him, and he nodded, not looking at her. He didn’t want to see the sadness in her voice reflected in her features.

She walked away for awhile, and when he opened up a trash bag, he heard her fumbling with the vacuum. While the whir of that machine went off, he took everything from the boxes out, turning them slowly in his hands. Most of it was just junk that was lying around the house. Though, if Ian hadn’t thrown it away, that must’ve meant it was all important somehow.

That was the cruel thing about death. That person was gone now, and at the end of the day, their material possessions became irrelevant to the world. Now it was just stuff taking up space.

Anthony sighed. He was getting all wimpy and existential over an old troll doll, for fuck’s sake. He tossed it in the garbage bag, and spent the next twenty minutes doing the same to various other objects. The only things he sat to the side were a happy cow doll and he and Ian’s bobble-heads. However, he paused when he got to the next few boxes.

What had first seemed to be all papers and junk was actually fan-art, letters, boxes of candy. Whatever fans had wanted to give. And Ian had kept them. He was cleaning out his house, preparing for death, but he kept these. There was a tug deep down inside him that he couldn’t describe. A sort of fondness, a kind of love.

He shook himself, his breath suddenly shallow and a shudder moving down his back. Ian was dead. Ian loved him. Anthony didn’t love him back. Plain and simple.

He threw all the mail away, not even sifting through it. If that was the cost to avoid questioning the plain and simple truth, then so be it.

“You don’t want any of that, dear?” Cheryl asked from the living room, where she’d been wiping down the large mirror. Anthony wondered if she’d been watching him in it, and if the discomfort he’d felt had shown through.

“Uh, no. Not interested.” He said, putting on a smile, and she gave him a small one in return, though hers was actually sincere.

“Well if you’re done in the kitchen, there’s more of that stuff in Ian’s room.” She said, and he nodded.

As he walked into the room, he had to question when was the last time he’d been in there. Was he maybe changing for a video? Grabbing something for Ian? It would’ve been months ago. Those last seven months, Ian had been private, though at the time Anthony didn’t know why. And it was hard to spot, they’d been so distant. But Anthony hadn’t been in Ian’s room with him, just the two of them talking, in some time, and since then everything had changed.

The dressers were gone, as was the bed. There was a folding chair in the middle of the room, with some boxes sat next to it, but besides that, really nothing. The closets were empty save a few hangers, none of the pictures of the two of them or of his family, or art given by fans and friends, remained on the walls. It was all tucked away in those three boxes on the floor.

Anthony sat down and pulled one towards him, going through a stack of fan-art in silence. Was it worth anything, really? If he threw most of it away, why save the scraps?

He put them back in the box anyway. No clue why. He would take them if Cheryl wouldn’t. If it was in Ian’s room, it was worth something to him, but that didn’t stop it from becoming more trash. Anthony caring was what kept it valuable, though he certainly couldn’t figure that out.

There was a creak in the floorboards, and he looked up to see Cheryl in the doorway.

“The new owners are coming in an hour.” She said, and he nodded.

“How’d you sell it so fast?” He asked, and she shrugged.

“It’s in a nice community. Priced low. It’s a relief it went by so quick.” She looked stressed, and Anthony knew it was a lot of rough work to deal with all this business. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She left, most likely to do some more cleaning, and Anthony returned to his work. He continued sifting through the boxes, though at the end of the day, they were only shoeboxes full of trinkets, and there was really nothing there for him to reserve, nothing there that must’ve been really important to Ian. Maybe he had been depressed. Maybe he had gone too far in giving things away. Maybe he sat all alone in that white room, day after day, with no material objects left to love, and slowly lost his sanity.

Anthony knew none of those were just ‘maybes’. Those were the facts. Ian was unwell, and the cancer made everything worse. It was a hard truth to face, the way his physical illness twisted that of his mind. After all, anyone in and out of love with their best friend since high school had to have something wrong with them. He was sick in the head. He was easy to dismiss. His affections were easy to dismiss.

He shook himself. He had to stop dwelling on these things, on Ian, on the plain and simple truth. He started throwing things away, not stopping until all that was left was a stack of photos and letters and a little plastic Jesus. Then he stood up, collected the few hangers in the closet, and put those in the trash bag. He tied it up, grabbed what remained of Ian’s things, and walked out of his room for the last time, bringing the items to Cheryl.

“Done.” He set the things on the counter and the garbage bag on the floor, and Cheryl paused wiping down the fridge.

“Good, thank you.” She said. “Mind taking it out to the curb?”

“Not at all.” He moved to grab the bag, but she didn’t seem finished, and he stood before her a moment as she put her words together.

“I know this has been hard for you.” She said at last, her voice gentle. Maternal. “And I know this is the Smosh House. I should’ve asked you if you wanted it, but with the funeral and the hospital bills-”

“No, Cheryl.” He interrupted. “Don’t be stupid. Don’t apologize, I understand.”

“Thank you.” She nodded. “Still, the two of you lived here once. And now you’re here without him. I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you.”

Anthony sucked in his breath and looked down at his shoes. Yeah, she couldn’t imagine. She couldn’t imagine a damn thing.

She must’ve picked up on how uncomfortable he was, and so changed the subject at Anthony’s downcast expression. “Did you take the hangers out of the closet and throw them away for me?”

“Yeah.” He said, then paused. “I guess you donated all his clothes already.”

He felt a twinge of regret. He’d been so angry and emotional his last visit that he didn’t take anything from Ian’s room. Even though he had so much already to remember his friend by, he had nothing he really chose for himself.

“Actually, no.” Cheryl said, and Anthony brightened. “I donated his clothes, but missed the ones I had in the wash. If you’d like, you can pick some things out.”

Anthony nodded wordlessly, but he knew his eyes were wide and his whole expression revealed his gratitude. He took the garbage out in a rush, then came back in just as quickly and went into the utility room. There, he opened up the dryer to find a load of laundry, Ian’s clothes. He sifted through carefully, on baited breath, as though he were touching relics and not just cloth.

He pulled out two tees, one light green with two broad white stripes on each sleeve, one maroon with a navy collar, and folded each carefully. Then he pulled out a long sleeve white and blue plaid shirt, too warm for the weather, but good for concealing the skin that had gone translucent and far too sallow for anyone’s taste. He folded that and set it aside too, then pulled out a light blue heather tee, the one that went so well with his eyes. He folded this, piled them up, and walked into the living room, where he thought Cheryl was alone.

“Anthony, dear.” She stopped him, and he was surprised to see a couple standing there. “This is Tyler and Dawn, the new homeowners.”

“Hey, how are you?” The man, Tyler, said, and Anthony tucked the shirts under his arm to shake his hand.

“Morning.” Said the girl, Dawn, and Anthony shook her hand as well, though only nodded and smiled politely.

_Oh. This is real._

“They’ve just come by to sign some paperwork. When are you guys moving in?”

“Sometime next week.” Dawn said with a smile. She had dark skin and chocolate hair, an Indian woman with a tiny frame and a glow in her skin.

“We’re really looking forward to it.” Tyler said, smiling politely to Anthony. He seemed to have picked up that something was wrong, but was good enough not to dwell on it. He was tall and lanky, with black skin and eyes even darker than his girlfriends’. They were beautiful, and Anthony wished them well in their new home. He wished for them something he had with Kalel, something Ian had wanted with him. Prosperity, comfort, peace.

“Do we have anything else to do, Cheryl?” Anthony turned to her, and she shook her head.

“No, you can run along. Thank you for your help today dear.” She smiled, and he returned it, remembering his manners and smiling wider at the couple.

“Well then, I’ll get out of your hair. You two enjoy the house, okay?”

“We will, thank you.” Dawn said with another smile, and Tyler held her tighter against him.

Anthony turned and walked to the front door. _This was real._ He was stepping out of the Smosh House for the last time. Every great moment he had there, every success, every fond memory, it would be in the distance now, in the shadows. With Ian, in the dark and foggy past, where old remembrances belonged.

He put his hand on the doorknob and turned around, looking at the house, barren and lonely despite the new life that was about to start in it, and he looked at the new carpet, and the holes in the walls where pictures had once been nailed, and at the couple who owned the place chatting amiably with Ian’s mother, and at the mirror behind them, in which he could see his own pale reflection and how put together and good he looked on the outside. And then he held the bundle of Ian’s clothing closer to him, and opened the door, and walked away.

***

He turned on the radio for the drive home. He didn’t sing along, and he didn’t laugh when the DJ gossiped about the latest celebrity drama. He didn’t smile when the weather report called for rain, he didn’t hit traffic. He thought of a little house he would never see again. He thought of a particular spot in his garden, next to the daisies.

He was melancholy, though he tried not to be. He didn’t want to think of these things. He wanted to feel healthy.

He parked in his driveway and sat a moment, taking a deep breath. Go inside, be with his girlfriend, have a calm evening. Everything would be back to the way it was. He grabbed the clothes and stepped in, past the kitchen and to the living room, only to find that he had been very, very wrong in how he thought his evening would go.

Sitting on his couch, next to a very teary Kalel, was Kris Rosenthal, whom he hadn’t seen since the service for Ian at the church, and his expression was solemn. When Anthony walked in and their eyes met, he could immediately see the pain in them. Something was wrong.

“Anthony?” Kalel said from her spot beside Kris, and Anthony turned to study her now. There were tears in her eyes and her cheeks were wet with them, but she wasn’t crying at that moment. There were tissues on the coffee table blackened with her make-up. 

“How’s Cheryl?” Her voice wavered and her lip quivered just a bit, but she looked like she could keep it under control. Anthony hesitated, unsure of what was going on.

“Fine.” He said, stepping in slowly and setting Ian’s shirts down on a chair. “Everything’s fine, Kalel.”

She let out a squeak and covered her mouth with her hand, then looked down at the ground. Anthony suddenly felt wounded looking at her, seeing her in pain. He wanted to step closer, grab her, hold her, but Kris spoke for the first time then.

“Anthony. I haven’t seen you in awhile.” He sounded like a stern father. Anthony gulped.

“I guess.” He wrung his hands. 

“I called you yesterday, but when you didn’t answer I decided to stop by and pay you a surprise visit. But I found Kalel distraught.”

Anthony brought his attention back to her. She was breathing hard, not crying but holding it back. She looked up at him and took her hand off her mouth, her gaze so strong he took a half-step back.

“What did you tweet this morning, Anthony?” Her voice was quiet, but firm.

_Oh._

He had tweeted that he tried to kill himself. He said nothing.

“Why did you write that?” She asked, still firm, and Anthony took another step back. “Was that true?”

But she clearly didn’t doubt that it was. She’d only seen him lying in bed all day, sleeping until two in the afternoon for some time now. This was the second of August, nearly a month after they lost Ian.

“Anthony.” Kalel stood, and Anthony stepped back yet again. “What if I had lost you?”

There was a tense silence. Kalel looked back to being on the brink of tears. Anthony glanced over to Kris and felt an odd shame bubble up. If he hadn’t found Charlie and called Kalel, Kris still would’ve showed up today. But he wouldn’t be sat with Kalel; instead he would have seen something terrible through the window.

“I’m sorry.” Anthony whispered, looking back to Kalel, and her lip trembled. “I made a mistake.”

“It’s alright, Anthony.” Kris said. “No one’s angry with you.”

“We just want to help you.” Kalel said in a shaky voice.

“Okay.” He said, more than a little worried, but he wanted to calm their nerves, he wanted to help them. Even more than he wanted to help himself. “How?”

“Well, we have to determine if a short hospital stay is necessary.” Kris said, and Anthony shook his head.

“I’m not hurt.” He said, but Kalel shook her head.

“In a psych ward, babe.” She clarified, her brows knitted with worry, and Anthony could tell she didn’t want something like that happening, nor did he for that matter.

“No.” He shook his head hard.

“It’s not about whether you want this Anthony. It’s about if you need it. You don’t have to be scared, it would only be a 72 hour stay, to make sure you’re alright.” Kris sounded as reasonable and scholarly as always.

“I don’t need it.” Anthony urged. “It was a mistake.”

“If there’s any chance of this happening again-”

“There’s not.” Anthony stated firmly. “I had a mental break. I told you I loved him, but I didn’t. I was just having problems dealing with his death. I don’t love him, Kris. I don’t.”

“I know that, sweetheart.” Kalel said, taking a step forward, and he didn’t retreat. “But we could’ve lost you.”

He thought again of near death. _He almost died_. And for what? Ian’s love, anyone’s love, wasn’t worth his life.

“I’m so sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry.” He rushed over to Kalel and wrapped her into a hug. She shook in his arms, so small and so sad. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She whispered to him. “I just want you to get through this.”

He kissed her temple and pulled back. “Charlie dying was a wake up call for me. As terrible as it sounds, he traded his life for mine. I can’t die for Ian. I need to stay here, I need to get better.”

“That’s exactly what he would want, darling.” She pulled him back into a hug. He leaned his head into her shoulder and took a deep breath, adoring her presence in his arms. They stood in silence for a moment.

That part was true. Charlie’s death prevented his own. He didn’t exactly figure it all out in that moment, but he was speaking the truth to them now. He wouldn’t try to kill himself again. He would try to be better, he would get over the affections Ian had for him.

There was a rustle from the couch, and Anthony looked over to see Kris stood up.

“See me on Monday, alright? Three o’clock.” He straightened out his Hawaiian shirt, and Anthony gave him the smallest of smiles.

“I will.” He said, and he could see a twinkle in Kris’ eye.

“Call me if you need anything. Both of you.” That stern father tone wasn’t gone from his voice, and Anthony was too tired to resent it. He had once been suspicious of Kris, always heated towards him, for that tone, for his scholarly gaze as though everyone was a patient. But just for now, he wanted to lay in bed next to the girl he loved.

He stood there and held Kalel as the footsteps faded, and the door closed behind them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commentary on tumblr yo: jackiestolz


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone asks anthony what river he's standing in. he says de nile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah whatever hmu on tumblr (jackiestolz) for commentary

The bedroom was still a little dark when he woke up. Kalel was moving around a lot, and he awoke from her bustling around. The sun was still rising, and he groaned and tossed around before Kalel shushed him and went into the other room.

The next time he woke up, it was the same time as yesterday, nice and early. He took a shower and hopped out in a towel, only to find that there were no belts hanging on the hook on the door, nor were there laces in any of his and Kalel’s shoes. He would pair his light blue heather tee with tighter shorts and no-lace Keds, then. When he got a spoon for his cereal, he ignored that there were no knives in the drawer, not even for butter. 

“Hey honey.” Kalel walked in with an overly cheery smile. “Oh, just cereal? I thought I would make you something nice.”

“Lucky Charms are nice.” He said kindly, but didn’t return the smile.

“Okay, well, I thought maybe we could do something special tonight. Maybe go out someplace fancy?” She sounded eager to please, but Anthony paused at that.

“I um . . . don’t really want to run into a fan or anything.” He mumbled, looking down into his bowl, but he saw her smile falter out of the corner of his eye anyway.

“Then I’ll make something. Tell me what you’d like, anything.” He held back a sigh and stood to put his dish in the sink.

“Don’t worry about it babe, we’ll order some Indian. That’s cool, right?” He turned to her and she nodded, but he could see she looked a little down-hearted. “And maybe you could go to the store, pick up some cookie dough? Not bake it?”

She smiled wider at that, and he walked over and gave her a peck on the lips.

“If that includes watching the Food Network until one in the morning, I’d love to.” She said with a smile, and kissed him back. “You wait here.”

“Actually, I was gonna visit Lee.” Anthony replied, and Kalel stiffened.

“Again? Already?” She asked carefully, trying not to push any buttons.

“I promised I would get him shoes.” More like he promised himself he would get Lee some shoes, but whatever, close enough. “His are falling apart.”

“Okay, sure thing.” She still sounded cautious, but not alarmed. “Split up, meet back here later?”

“For samosas and samji? You bet.” He kissed her forehead, grabbed his keys, and left with a brief wave.

***

He stopped by a Footlocker and got Lee a pair of all black low-top Converse. He played it safe and wore his sunglasses the whole time, risking looking rude in order to avoid being recognized. His fame, as of late, had moved outside just the Smosh fandom, what with his screaming about loving Ian, then his Tweet taking it back, and his attempted suicide.

He tried not to dwell on any of that, but he knew seeing Lee might bring up that last one. Lee seemed to have an idea as to what Anthony was planning on doing when he took that gun from him, and would surely bring it up. He nervously drummed his fingers on the wheel the whole drive over.

When he arrived at his door and knocked, Lee opened it and looked immediately surprised to see him. It wasn’t unpleasant though, and he let him in with a friendly nod.

“Back so soon?” Lee asked, eyeing him up and down.

“I wanted to see you again. And I got you something.” Anthony held up the plastic bag, and Lee took it, obviously excited as he pulled the Converse box out the bag. He opened it and gave Anthony a wry smile.

“All black, that cool shit? Nice.” He walked over to his couch to put them on, and Anthony looked through the closet and rifled through the drawers.

“Come on bro, you were here on Tuesday, it’s only Friday. What could I get in like three days?” Lee nearly whined behind him, but Anthony ignored him.

“Just making sure.” He mumbled, and stuck his hands in the pockets of every coat in the closet, but he found nothing.

“These are nice man, thank you.” Lee said as Anthony sat down. “So how are you?”

Anthony sighed, not sure how to answer. A lot of shit had happened in three days.

“That good, huh?” Lee said, but without a grin. “Where’s my gun?”

“Under my bed, where it’ll be staying indefinitely.” Anthony answered, which was true, even if it wasn’t the most revealing statement. He didn’t want to tell his little brother that he tried to kill himself, even if Lee had suspected it. But it occurred to him that Lee had done nothing about it.

“It’s cool man. Kalel pick up her stuff?” Anthony remembered that they had been broken up the last time he and Lee spoke.

“We’re back together, actually.” Anthony said with a fond little smile, but Lee just gave him an odd look. He was too straight forward for polite small-talk and smiles that no one meant.

“But what about what you said? How can you be with her if you’re in love with Ian?” Lee asked, and Anthony bit his lip.

“I don’t love Ian. I just made a mistake.” When Lee made no move to speak, he continued. “I was so distraught by his death, and finding out he was in love with me, that I just lost my mind. But I feel so much better now.”

“But you left her to be with him.” Lee urged, still not understanding him. “Even though he was dead and gone, you did everything for him. You would’ve done anything for him.”

“I was mourning, and I was mourning wrong. It was unhealthy.” Anthony explained. “It was as illogical and self-detrimental as you said it was.”

“But it was love.” Lee insisted, and Anthony shook his head, getting frustrated.

“Look, how do I explain this to you. I freaked out because my best friend in the whole world was in love with me, and he kept that and his terminal cancer a secret. Don’t you get it, Lee? He was sick in the head. He pulled me down with him.”

They sat quietly for a moment, Lee trying to process those words as Anthony calmed himself. Finally, after a full minute of silence, Lee spoke again.

“He was sick in the head.”Lee said slowly, and Anthony picked up on how confused his brother was.

“Yeah, he had like, depression or anxiety or something, man. Something bad. He cleaned out his house before he died, he had nothing left to love. Sometimes, in high school, I thought he was gonna kill himself, he was so down. Because of his infatuation with me, mixed up with all the shit in his head, it just twisted him into someone he wasn’t.” Anthony paused and leaned forward in his chair, resting his chin on his hand.

“If he had medicine, if he had people properly taking care of him, he might’ve lived longer, and I would’ve known about the cancer. But he destroyed himself, all because of his mental illnesses. Being fucked up in the head, and then told you’re dying, no wonder he went off the rails.”

Lee sat silent again, and shifted, looking uncomfortable.

“I think you’re making up excuses.”

“What?” Anthony asked, his turn to be confused.

“I think you’re making up excuses. For the way you felt, for the shit he did. Like you still haven’t accepted that he lied to you about dying.”

“Trust me, I’ve accepted it. It just wasn’t the real Ian.” He rubbed his eyes, exhausted when he thought of his old friend.

“That’s bullshit. There’s no separate Ian, it was just him.” Lee said, suddenly fiery.

“Lee-” Anthony began, but his brother stopped him.

“No! There’s no ‘real Ian’ and ‘mentally ill Ian,’ there’s no ideal version that got taken over by the one you’re not-so-hot for. Just like when mom talks about me on the phone and says I’m not a criminal, I just have behavioral problems. I still robbed that convenience store.”

“Well, it’s hard for her.” Anthony said, getting just as annoyed as his brother.

“No, it’s embarrassing for her. It’s hard for you.” Lee sat straighter. “You’re going through some shit but that doesn’t mean you were tricked into it by some mentally ill monster, it doesn’t mean that somewhere out there there’s a perfect version of Ian skipping around. You’re both fucked up people, sick or not, and just because you don’t want to take responsibility-”

“Responsibility?” Anthony stood up angrily. “You’re telling me about responsibility? I took your gun and we both know what I was going to do with it! You just let me walk out that door!”

“What was I supposed to do, Anthony?” Lee stood up as well, his voice loud. “Hey bro, don’t kill yourself, you’ll totally listen to me on this one!”

“You could’ve tried! You could’ve done something! I almost died!” Anthony yelled, and his vision suddenly became blurry.

“I couldn’t do shit without getting in trouble, man, where am I supposed to go if I get kicked out of here? I had to choose between your life and mine!” Lee yelled back. “Literally what the fuck was I supposed to do, call mom? Tell her her son was gonna blow his goddamn brains out?”

“No! But-”

“But nothing, Ant, but shit! You didn’t even do it anyway, you goddamn coward!” Anthony rushed forward and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, seething. A tear crept down his cheek as he looked into his brother’s vibrant green eyes. He didn’t look scared at all, just pissed and unexpectedly sad.

“I tried.” Anthony said, and his voice wavered. “I was going to. But that fucking guinea pig died, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

He shoved Lee down, and he fell back on the couch, breathing hard. Anthony turned and stepped away, running his hands through his hair.

“I’m not a coward. I did the right thing.” He said firmly, his back still turned, and walked out in a huff.

***

He listened to Kalel move about the kitchen, his mind hazy with exhaustion. They’d spent the evening eating take out and watching the Food Network as promised, but there was a tense wall between them, one Anthony had built with his anger for Lee. But he tried his best to ignore it, for her sake.

They went into their room, and he stripped down to his boxers and sat on the edge of his bed, but didn’t set an alarm for the morning. He hadn’t dared reach for his phone since he’d announced his attempted suicide; he didn’t want to see what tweets and messages were being left for him.

Kalel finished changing into her nightgown, and she sat on her edge of the bed, facing away from him. They were silent in the dark for a moment.

“How did you do it?” She asked finally, in a small voice. Anthony thought of the gun stashed beneath their bed.

“I’m not answering that.” Anthony replied quietly. He didn’t want her to know. No matter what he used, he didn’t want that information floating around in her head.

“If it’s something you could get addicted to-”

“It wasn’t pills, Kalel.” He answered, and they fell silent again.

“I love you.” She mumbled, and he responded right away so she wouldn’t worry further.

“I love you, too. Goodnight.”

They both climbed into bed, and stayed on their own sides, and stared at the opposite walls for a long time.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anthony hops off the denial train for a change

He drove through the rain in silence. Monday at three. He was making his trek to see Kris.

He sat in the lobby, and didn’t smile politely at Ruby, nor did he thank her when she called him in. He remained stoic, just because he had to, just because there was so much on his mind he could burst.

“Anthony, good morning.” Kris greeted him as he walked in, and he wore the same stern expression he’d had on when they last spoke.

“Morning, Kris.” He sat down in the chair and Kris sat opposite him.

“How did you spend your weekend?”

“Me and Kalel stayed in, ordered take-out. It was nice.” Anthony shrugged.

“And has Kalel been taking care of you?” Kris asked, and Anthony looked down at his moccasins, some of the only shoes he had without the laces.

“Yeah. She’s been trying to act all happy and distract me from it, and I appreciate that.” He shifted in his chair. “I’d like to cut my food and wear a belt, but I understand why I can’t.”

“And you’re not angry?” Kris asked.

“No. I’m kind of bitter, but I’m the one who caused all this, so I can’t get mad at anyone.” Despite how easy those words were to say, Anthony found this task slightly daunting. He was frustrated with his surroundings, but Kalel was doing her best to take care of him, and he couldn’t fault her for that, especially when she was doing everything right.

“I’m glad to hear that.” Kris said, though he didn’t look so glad, merely stern as always. “Now Anthony, I’m going to ask you what I asked on Thursday, and I need you to be truthful. Do you think you need to stay in a psychiatric ward for a little while?”

“No.” Anthony answered, and he was being truthful. “I don’t want to do what I did again.”

“Alright.” Kris said, though he didn’t seem entirely sure. “Now this of course is a very sensitive subject, and I don’t want to cause any harm. Do you want to talk about what you did?”

“No.” Anthony said again, and wrung his hands.

“Then would you like to talk about the events leading up to it?” Kris asked, and when Anthony just sat silently, he added: “For example, could you tell me if this was something you planned?”

“Yeah.” Anthony said, his chest tight. “I planned it.”

“How?” Kris asked, and Anthony couldn’t look the kindly man in the eye.

“I went to visit my brother, Lee, in the reform house. I found out he had a gun, I don’t think legally. I told him I was taking it so he’d be safe, and I really was, but I knew I could use it on myself.” He gulped, his mouth dry and palms sweaty.

“And when was this?” Kris asked as he picked up a legal pad and started taking notes.

“The thirty first. So, the day before I did it.”

“Did you write a note? Did you call anyone?” He questioned patiently, looking over his legal pad to view Anthony shaking, wringing his hands, and rubbing his red-rimmed eyes.

“No. I just. I don’t know, I talked to Ian.” He hid his face in his hands, ashamed of himself.

“You talked to Ian?” Kris asked, and Anthony could hear the mask of professionalism fall away for a moment, and he recognized a deep and raw despondency in Kris’ voice.

“I yelled at the air. I wanted him to listen.” Anthony had no idea where Ian was, or if he could here him at all, but that moment, when Anthony had lost his head, all he could do was hope.

“What did you say?” Kris asked, and Anthony uncovered his face and looked up. It was difficult, meeting eyes with Kris, but deep down he felt he had to.

“I told him he ruined me.”

For a brief and surprising moment, Anthony thought he saw Kris tear up, but the moment passed as Kris went back to his note-taking.

“He ruined you.” Kris stated flatly, looking down at his writing. “In what way?”

Anthony squirmed in his chair, uncertain how to continue.

“I visited Lee again on Friday. And he said something to me. He said . . .” Anthony trailed off and ran his fingers through his hair. “But I don’t know if that makes things different. Between me and Ian.”

“Something your brother said to you could’ve affected whether or not Ian ruined your life?” Kris asked with a raised brow, and Anthony, with gained confidence, shook his head.

“It could change how angry I am. If I could figure it out. I can’t wrap my head around it.” Anthony rested his brow against his hand for a moment and sighed. “Maybe I can wrap my head around it, and I just don’t want to.

“He said I romanticized Ian. That I made a perfect version of him, and then the sick-in-the-head version that I could blame all our problems on. That I was blaming my problems on some made-up ‘mentally-ill monster.’ He said we were both fucked up people and I didn’t want to take responsibility for that.” Anthony looked back up at him.

 “But it still feels like there was a good Ian, my best friend, and the sick Ian that he turned into. Because, look-” Anthony leaned forward in his seat. “He’s had rough times in the past. Nothing specific, he just seemed depressed. I never got too worried because I never liked thinking about it. But that was this sickness dwelling inside him. The bad stuff in his head, right? There’s real Ian, and there’s that bad part of him.”

“I see. But there was no bad part, there was no once-pure Ian slowly darkened. He was always just himself, all that bad stuff jumbled in with the good. And it always existed whether or not you knew it was there.” Kris said, and Anthony blinked.

“But I’m his best friend.” _Was._ “I noticed when he was upset.”

“Clearly, there was a lot you didn’t notice.” Kris pointed out, and Anthony almost let out a dark laugh at that. “I understand what your brother’s saying. He seems quite wise.”

At that, Anthony did let out a snort.

“I do to. Except for that responsibility bit.”

“He meant that you’re villainizing something that isn’t real so you can blame your problems on that thing. That it wasn’t your fault you tried to kill yourself, it was that of the fraud you think Ian became. But the facts are these, Anthony; Ian played a role in your would-be demise, and you’re the one who had problems coping with Ian’s death, and you’re the one that stole the gun and planned to use it. I don’t say this to make either of you out as the foe or put guilt on your shoulders, but to explain that both of you had your own problems, your own bad stuff jumbled in with the good.” Kris had explained it all perfectly, but Anthony wasn’t done fighting.

“But that wasn’t Ian at the end. That wasn’t my friend.” Anthony defended with clenched fists.

“There is only Ian, a man with his own problems. That was always your friend.”

“Then I didn’t know him. I didn’t fucking know him Kris, and that’s even worse!” Anthony said, tearing up. “I could finally explain all this shit away, but I always have to come back to this, don’t I? The fact that he was a stranger to me!”

“You can’t know everything, Anthony.” Kris pointed out.

“I can know my best friend!” Anthony cried out, tears starting to fall. “I can know something about any of this! I’m back at square one, Kris, I can’t be stuck here again!”

“You knew Ian.” Kris said firmly. “You knew all about him. This lapse in information didn’t cancel out your entire friendship. And you’re not at square one. How did Ian ruin you?”

“He kept that cancer a secret! He told me he loved me!” Anthony screamed. “He made me think I loved him back, he made me think I was all alone in the world! He made me take that gun! And he told me he let me be happy, goddamn it, by not telling me until the end! I fucking aggravated it! I made the shit in his head worse! This is my fault!”

“You’re confusing his shortcomings for your own. This is not your fault.” Kris said, so calm and clear in the face of all the torment that came off Anthony in bounds.

“But that would be easier! Fuck, Kris, that would be easier than this!” Anthony yelled out, and buried his head in his hands to stifle his tears.

“Those kinds of lies would be easier. It would be easier to keep your friend on a pedestal, to blame yourself and something that wasn’t real. But you nearly threw your life away for lies like that; lies, Anthony, not Ian’s love as you had thought. No fabrication of the truth is worth losing yourself.” Kris said gently, and Anthony squeezed his eyes shut, his head aching.

“You’re right.” He said quietly, truthfully. “You’re right.” 

“I think that’s all for today, Anthony.” Kris replied, jotting things down in his notepad, and Anthony didn’t look at him as he stood, crossed the office, and walked out.

***

The first thing he saw when he got home was a light blue pick-up truck parked in the road, one he recognized from six days previous. One that belonged to Hana the young actress, the one with eyes as blue as Ian’s, with the same dark hair and pale skin.

He walked to the door, but as he put his hand out to open it, it swung ajar, and Hana stood there, surprised to see him.

“Anthony.” She said awkwardly, then gave him a curt nod and walked away briskly. Anthony remained confused, then stepped inside to see Kalel standing there, a tissue in her hand and mascara beneath her eyes.

“Kalel?” He asked hesitantly.

“I’m sorry.” She immediately replied, her voice strangled from crying. He had a bad feeling in his gut.

“What’s going on?” He asked, suspicious. She sniffled.

“I hit it with the vacuum.” She said with a shaking voice. “It was under the bed.”

The gun. Anthony felt his stomach drop.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, rushing up to her, though he could see no obvious injury. She shook her head. “Kabuki? Hana? Is anyone hurt?”

She shook her head again and wiped her eyes.

“Why was Hana here?” Anthony asked.

“I didn’t know who to call.” Kalel answered, and Anthony knitted his brow.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t want it here.” She whispered, and Anthony’s brow tensed further.

“Kalel, _what do you mean_?” He asked, even more on edge. “ _Where is the gun?_ ”

Her lip quivered, and she pointed behind him, to the front door.

“She has the gun?” Anthony asked, and Kalel nodded. “Hana took the gun?”

She nodded, squeaked, and tears started dripping down her face again, but Anthony stepped away from her. He went to the window, but her truck was gone, and panic flooded his veins.

“You seriously gave her the gun?” Anthony turned around and called out to her.

“What was I supposed to do?” Kalel asked, her voice high-pitched.

“Not fucking that, Kalel. Jesus!” Anthony ran his hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want you near it.” She said, and Anthony fumed.

“I told you I didn’t want to try again! What, do you not trust me?”

“No, no.” She let out a sob. “I just wanted you to be safe.”

“So you called my new coworker? Who I’ve met twice? What the hell were you thinking?”

“I called Smosh, I took the first person that picked up!” She cried out.

“But why didn’t you call me?” Anthony yelled.

“Because I don’t fucking trust you alone with a gun!” Kalel yelled back. “You tried to kill yourself, I can’t believe you when you say you won’t try it again!”

“Because you don’t trust me!” Anthony responded. His mind was a frenzy of alarm, he couldn’t keep his thoughts straight as he considered the situation.

“Because I love you and I want you to get better!” Kalel sobbed, tears dripping down her face. “Don’t do this to me, don’t make me feel guilty!”

“You should feel guilty!” Anthony said. “You gave a gun to a stranger! Why didn’t you call Kris?”

“He’s a shrink, Anthony, he could’ve had you taken away! They’d lock you up in a straight-jacket!”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Anthony said, though he wasn’t so sure. He wouldn’t be locked away, at any rate, but he bet that psych ward would no longer be optional.

“He could! I couldn’t trust him!” Kalel sobbed.

“Well you shouldn’t have called her!” Anthony said, and gestured to the door that Hana had walked out of.

“Who was I supposed to call, the police? You’d get in trouble!” Kalel said, and she made sense, but Anthony was no less annoyed.

“I don’t know!”

“Your mom? Ian’s mom? What would that do to them?” Kalel asked, her voice high-pitched again as a new wave of tears came.

“I don’t fucking know!” Anthony said. “I don’t know what you were supposed to do. But you shouldn’t have called Smosh!”

“I just wanted to call Ian! That’s who I wanted!” Kalel wailed, her face all red and wet. Anthony stiffened at that, unsure how to respond. First with the gifts at the funeral, now this. She missed him too, and she realized he was the only one who could help Anthony sometimes. She valued their friendship, and this softened him.

“Okay. That’s okay, Kalel.” Anthony said slowly. “But a stranger took a gun from our house. We need to get it back so we don’t put anyone in danger.”

“I’m sorry.” She said, still crying. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“You were panicked. That’s okay.” Anthony said, still talking slowly. “But I need to get that gun back. I don’t know what I’d do if Hana accidentally got hurt.”

She nodded, and he walked up to her and rubbed her arms. She took deep breaths in attempt to calm herself.

“I wasn’t thinking.” She repeated, and she looked a little guilty now.

“It’s okay.” He squeezed her into a hug, and as he looked over her shoulder, staring into the sunset, he thought of his day, of the things he’d said. It would’ve been easier to believe there was a good and perfect Ian invaded by a monster, that the decisions he’d made were not his own, but it wasn’t the truth. And now that Anthony knew that, and wasn’t full of self-loathing and anger at that monster, he could finally move forward.

He was one step closer to finding peace.

“I’ll get the gun back.” He said to her.

One minuscule step closer.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> u thought the denial was over? hahaha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no commentary today, check my tumblr tomorrow maybe

As he listened to the ringback tone, Anthony’s apprehension rose. He didn’t want to make the phone call he was making.

“Anthony? What’s up?” It was Zach, the man he’d spoken to at Smosh last. The one standing closest to him after he walked out of his fight with Drew. One of the many who heard every word, and thought Anthony was in love with Ian. Though, after what he’d tweeted, he was hoping those rumors were dispelled some.

“I need Hana’s number.” Anthony said firmly, not displaying any emotions.

“Oh.” Zach sounded confused. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Anthony said, which seemed like the truth, or at least close enough. “But I need Hana’s number.”

“Yeah, give me a sec.” He heard Zach’s footsteps over the phone and hoped that would be the end of their conversation, but Zach continued. “So you’re sure you’re okay, man? Have you, um, been getting help?”

“I have.” Anthony said softly, and shifted in his office chair. He looked down at the desk drawer that held Ian’s final letter. “Thanks.”

“Did you . . . Did you really try to kill yourself?” Zach asked in a soft voice, and Anthony’s breath hitched. It was a forward thing to ask, and Anthony cursed himself for inviting such intimacy. But he swallowed hard and gave an answer.

“Yeah.” He said after a moment. “But I’m doing better.”

He felt like he shouldn’t have told Zach as much. He had to tell his mother over the phone during his weekend with Kalel. It was more a confirmation of it, as she’d heard from his twitter and everyone talking about it. He could still hear her crying.

“I’m glad you’re getting better.” Zach said after a moment. “Do you think you’re coming back soon?”

Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to think of Smosh, let alone his return. He decided to end his kindness.

“I really need that number, Zach.” He said.

“Oh. Okay, let me read it to you.” Zach sounded a little worried, a little hurt. Maybe concerned he’d pushed Anthony too far. He read out the number for Anthony to write down.

“Anything else I can do for you?” Zach asked him, and Anthony fell silent for a moment. He just wanted to clarify one thing, though he wasn’t sure how to word it.

“Zach?” He asked, and paused. Zach stayed silent, but Anthony knew he was listening. “I didn’t love Ian. I was just confused.”

Zach stayed quiet a moment. Anthony felt his heart beating rapidly. For some reason he was actually quite nervous. Maybe it was his desire for approval from someone at Smosh, or understanding at least.

“I know.” Zach answered at last, though he sounded wary. “I always knew. It was never mutual.”

“Oh.” Anthony said, and that was all he could say.

“I’ll see you around.” Zach said, though Anthony knew he was job-hunting. Since Anthony was on leave and Zach had plans to quit, that meant that this was probably the end for them.

“Yeah.” Anthony replied, and hung up.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about what Zach had said to him. He had always known Ian loved him, and he had always known Anthony didn’t love him back. He wondered what it was that made Zach believe that. It just came back to what Anthony had said in therapy, that he hadn’t even known Ian at all. He felt Kris was right when he said that of course he did, it was just certain information that evaded him, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like a bad friend. 

He was. He definitely was a bad friend. And so was Ian. They did ruin each other, after all.

He sighed and dialed the number he’d written down, waiting patiently and hoping that she would pick up.

“Hello?” Hana picked up her phone, and Anthony knew it was too soon to sigh with relief.

“We need to meet up somewhere. Now.”

***

She picked a cruel spot, and they both knew it. Anthony hadn’t returned to that park since before Ian had passed, when they’d been filming together. When he pulled up, he saw her truck and hoped he wouldn’t have to actually go in the park, but she wasn’t sat inside. Instead he found her on a park bench, and he had to walk through the park to reach her.

He sat next to her wordlessly, and didn’t look at her for a moment.

“Hey.” She simply said after a moment of silence.

“Hey.” He repeated, then looked at her. She wore a navy dress and her hair down, and paired that with lip stain and a little eyeliner. She didn’t look so much like Ian anymore. Just a look-alike, just her own person.

He couldn’t deny that she was attractive.

“Where’s the gun?” Anthony asked, remembering why he was there.

“Don’t worry about it.” She said cooly.

“Are you kidding? Give it back to me.” He said incredulously.

“No.” She gave him a firm look. “I took it away to protect you.”

“Listen.” He scooted closer to her. “You’re a stranger. I can’t just let a stranger have my gun.”

“I’m not a stranger, and I don’t have it.” She said teasingly, almost smug, but panic seized Anthony.

“You don’t have it? Where is it?” He grabbed her arms, but she only giggled.

“Relax. It’s hidden. As good as gone from this planet.” He pulled back and took his hands off her.

“Where?” Anthony asked, and she raised a brow.

“Again, hidden. Meaning ‘where’ is not an option.” She smirked.

“So I’m just supposed to trust you. With a lethal weapon.” Anthony looked at her pointedly.

“You should try.” She said. “Or you can call the cops, since I’ve stolen something so important.”

He stared at her and couldn’t figure out if she was trying to help him or con him. Sure, she took the gun away for their safety, but now she was just being cheeky.

“Do you have any shame?” He asked. “I tried to kill myself. With the weapon you’re refusing to return to me.”

She looked sad at that.

“The gun had a full clip. You never fired.” She said knowingly, but that didn’t change her mournful look. “And that’s exactly why I can’t give it back.”

She looked off into the distance, and Anthony waited patiently.

“That tweet was unexpected. The fact you were still alive was unexpected.” Hana said, and Anthony interrupted.

“There was nothing you could do.” He said firmly, and he meant it.

“I know. But then Kalel called Smosh, and I was the one who picked up.” She gave him a hard look. “She was crying so hard, I thought you tried again. I was so thankful that you were okay that first time, but suddenly all my hope was gone. All the hope I’d had since two jackass kids were still going strong after their Pokemon theme song video was taken down.”

He smiled at that memory. Their beginnings.

“But it was just about the gun. She wanted it gone and she didn’t know who to call. Of course I was going to help her. So why the hell would I give it back now?” Hana asked him, and he nodded.

“I understand that. I’m not exactly okay with it, but I understand.” He looked away from her, kicking his feet out distractedly.

Silence fell between the pair as they observed the park. Children were playing, people were jogging, families were walking their dogs. On a nice day like this, he and Ian could’ve been filming. Or time could pass, and Tyler and Dawn would have a kid in a stroller here. Nothing but happy images, but the sadness remained in him.

“How’s Smosh?” He asked, still observing, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her shrug.

“We’re running out of videos that have you in them. The ones you recorded with us before your break. I think the fans will understand, but they won’t be happy. It’s a ticking time bomb.”

“Well at least you were honest.” Anthony muttered bitterly, and she gave him a wry smile.

“As soon as Zach leaves, we’re fucked. He’s all our morale now.” She added. “We need someone to keep us afloat.”

“Sounds like you want that someone to be me.” Anthony said, and she shrugged.

“If you’re still appreciating my honesty.” They fell silent again. It was too warm out for sitting still and talking about such sad and lonely things. Anthony could feel the sweat on the back of his neck wetting the collar of Ian’s green tee.

A part of Anthony said he could never go back without Ian. But Ian was only a friend, and nothing more. Of course he could go back to work. Ian didn’t mean enough to him to make him leave Smosh. That’s what he had to tell himself, anyway.

“Ian would’ve done this exact same shit.” Anthony said, but didn’t look at her. It was true; he would’ve been just as stubborn, just as calculating, he would’ve said anything he needed to if it would get Anthony on the right track.

“I’ll see you around.” He said, and without waiting for a response, stood up and walked away. He kept stoic as he walked to his car, but when he was halfway across the park his phone rang.

“Did she give it back?” Kalel asked him the moment he picked up, clearly worried.

“No. But I think I can get it eventually.” He pulled out his keys. “I just need to get closer.”

“How?” She asked as he got into his car.

“There’s only one way.” He slammed his car door and let his voice go hard. “I’m going back to Smosh.”

***

He was nervous as all shit as he pulled into the parking lot the next day. He hadn’t warned anyone he would be coming, he just decided he had to. Whether or not he wanted to was no longer a question, because if he could earn Hana’s trust, he could earn his gun, and he, Kalel, and Lee would be safe.

He walked into the building and took the elevator up, his chest tight. He wondered what they would say and if they would hate him. He had to keep his emotions under control to keep from another outburst. The last time he was here, he caused Drew to quit, and made a real name for himself.

The place was unusually quiet as he stepped in. The usual joyous camaraderie was replaced with soft words, people sat muttering amongst themselves, doing their work silently and without flare. As they saw Anthony walking across the room, they grew even more quiet, and didn’t bother to hide their looks of shock and pity. Anthony blocked them out.

He walked straight to Zach’s office, and found his door open as he chatted quietly with Mr. Morgan.

“Hey.” He said, and they both looked up, and both looked incredibly surprised.

“Anthony.” Zach blurted out, looking him up and down. “This is a surprise.”

“Certainly.” Added Mr. Morgan. “What brings you here?”

“I figure we have some recording to do.” Anthony answered with a shrug and a polite little smile. “Should we get started?”

They both nodded and sent him down to the green screen, where silence permeated upon his unexpected presence. They were already set to film, and RJ sat out so Anthony could perform, though surely he was waiting on the sidelines incase Anthony had another incident and had to leave.

“Okay, Anthony, we have your lines on cue cards, just read them out.” Mr. Morgan said as Anthony took his place in front of the green screen. Hana passed by him and gave him a reassuring smile, and he gave a small one in return. Somehow, it wasn’t too difficult to manage. Maybe it was just the girl he was smiling at.

She walked to the other side of a door and stood patiently, donned in a mailman costume and holding a cardboard box.

“Action!” Peter called out, and Hana knocked on the door. Anthony swung it open.

“Delivery for Mr. Pad . . . Padildo?” She asked, and Anthony froze. Ian wrote this.

“I -- it’s Padilla.” He answered, phased for a moment. They weren’t even writing new content.

“Great, I just need to see some ID.” Hana said with a smile, but Anthony didn’t move. _Ian wrote this._

“Anthony, what’s up?” Peter asked from behind the camera, and he began to sweat.

“Nothing. Let’s run it again.” Anthony answered, and Hana closed the door and knocked again, and Anthony again pulled it open.

“Delivery for Mr. Pad . . . Padildo?” She asked again, and Anthony was more prepared.

“It’s Padilla.” He answered.

“Great, I just need to see some ID.” She said, and he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hastily printed prop, a license of himself with a bad haircut photoshopped on.

“Ha!” Hana let out an uproarious fake laugh. “You look like a puppy molester!”

“Moolester.” He corrected without thinking.

“What?” She faltered, and he winced.

“We always said moolester.” Anthony said, and it came out like an apology. He felt bad correcting her, but that was the joke that Ian wrote, and he couldn’t let her mess it up.

“Okay, from the beginning.” Peter called out, and Hana closed the door yet again, then knocked, and Anthony swung it open.

“Delivery for Mr. Pad . . . Padildo?” She asked again, but Anthony couldn’t answer her.

“Ian wrote this.” He said to her with a furrowed brow. “Did you know that?”

“Yeah.” She said softly. “I know that.”

She looked around nervously, and Anthony did the same, but quickly and not too obvious. Everyone was staring at him in alarm or morbid curiosity, and he felt himself go red.

It shouldn’t have mattered that Ian wrote it. Ian was only his friend, he didn’t matter enough to make Anthony falter like this. It didn’t matter that it was exactly a month since Ian died, it didn’t matter that Anthony was wearing Ian’s maroon shirt with his Keds without the laces. He was getting too caught up, too emotional, too stupid over shit that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

“I’m trying.” He said to her, his voice wavering and soft but oh-so-loud in the immense silence of the room. “Let’s run it again.”

And they tried it again. And he got it right. And they moved on. They all moved on. Time passed, and with it came understanding.

The crew at Smosh understood not to bring up Ian. They understood they had to give Anthony space. They understood the tense silence he brought with him.

Anthony understood what returning to Smosh meant. He understood that when he told people he never really loved Ian, it was exactly what he had to say. He understood that the more friendly he was with Hana, the closer he would be to his gun. He understood that the gun was nearly an excuse. He understood she had a boyfriend. He understood that he didn’t care.

He understood bullshitting his way through therapy. He understood Kris’ weary demeanor. He understood not visiting his brother. He understood his fake smiles at his girlfriend, as much as she understood that they were lies. He understood how often he thought of Ian, and how often he pushed those thoughts away. He understood why he couldn’t acknowledge what he felt without the rocky calm they’d claimed come toppling down.  
Time passed. Anthony understood more than he ever did. He just didn’t understand that it wasn’t a ruse he could keep up forever. He didn’t understand the constant feeling of discomfort that nagged at him, that made his leg bounce when he sat and made his morning jog longer, faster. He didn’t understand the reason he couldn’t stop thinking of Ian, and the reason he always wanted to stop thinking of Ian.

Anthony didn’t understand he was still in love with him.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> do a little time jump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there actually is commentary on my blog (jackiestolz.tumblr.com) this week woohoo!

It was September sixteenth, and Anthony was turning twenty five. He woke up early in the morning and showered, then tied up his newly returned shoelaces and buckled his belt. When he stepped into the kitchen, Kalel was flipping pancakes, but gave him a kind smile as soon as she saw him.

“Happy birthday dear!” She said, and he smiled back as he grabbed a plate.

They had a rocky peace since his suicide attempt. He was wary of everyone, constantly distant, and she couldn’t point that out without risking a fallout. Another fallout, another gun. She was scared.

They were living a wonderful imitation of the perfect relationship; they smiled at each other, held hands, kissed, and she never pressed him when he didn’t look at her when she changed or when he went to bed early. She smiled and pushed through, she put him first. She was fearful of any alternative.

He knew all this, but couldn’t point it out either. Everything should have been working fine, and the fact that it wasn’t was a red flag. The time that had passed since he returned to Smosh was supposed to be his grand recovery, and he feared any potential slip-ups. To admit something was wrong or point out that all of this was a farce could cause him to lose all of his hard work.

People respected him now, people accepted that he moved on. The fans were shocked at the mistakes he had made, many had turned away from him, many believed he still loved Ian. But many others told him they were just glad he was still alive, and he appreciated what support he could get.

“These are good, thank you.” He said through a mouth full of food, and she smiled.

“What do you want to do today?” She asked, and he chewed thoughtfully. Normally, he’d go out with her and a few friends, and Ian of course.

“I have to go to work.” He answered, and she was too used to disappointment to let her false smile fade now.

“Okay. But after that, how about we go out? Maybe bowling and a movie?” She asked hopefully, and he shrugged.

“I’ll think about it at work, honey. I’m running late.” He picked up his plate, put it in the sink, and kissed her on the cheek, then took off before she could say another word.

He headed to work with the radio playing, the sun shining, feeling pleasant in the cool weather. Summer had faded enough so that his air conditioner wasn’t blasting, but it was still warm. Work had been decent enough, though he was never excited to go in the morning. And decent, of course, was a low standard.

They ran out of Ian’s writing and replaced it with that of the writers from the Smosh Pit, which Anthony stayed silent about, despite his displeasure. The work wasn’t funny, nor remotely entertaining for that matter. Mr. Morgan had mentioned bringing in professionals, but Anthony had ignored this. He knew it was that or start writing the stuff himself, and he knew he could write nothing humorous in his condition.

He walked into the offices, and got a few smiles and ‘happy birthdays’ from his coworkers. For some, it was their only interaction since he returned, since they knew to keep their distance. They were all concerned that there’d be another outburst on his part.

“Morning, Zach, Mr. Morgan.” He stepped into Zach’s office, just wondering about some lines, but paused when he saw them huddled around Zach’s laptop, looking stern. 

When he’d called Zach for Hana’s number, they both thought they’d never speak to each other again. But now they worked together every day, with Anthony back from his leave and Zach giving up his job hunt. It was an odd relationship, but they were powering through just like the rest of the employees were.

“What are you looking at?” Anthony eyed them nervously, and Mr. Morgan stood tall and straightened his tie.

“Have you ever met a couple named Dawn and Tyler?” He asked, and the question took Anthony by surprise.

“Yeah, they bought Ian’s house. Why?”

“No, Morgan, it’s his birthday.” Zach said, causing Anthony some worry.

“Show me.” He demanded, and Mr. Morgan turned around the laptop as Zach sighed. It was a Youtube video from a user named ADawnIsVlogging. He clicked play.

“. . . Finally settled into our new house.” Dawn said from behind the camera. Tyler was on screen, pulling the plastic off a love-seat. “Now we just have to rearrange the furniture.”

“Where the last owners had their couch is probably fine.” Tyler said, and Dawn turned the camera towards herself, a flash of the living room mirror showing for a moment in the process.

“Yeah fun fact of the day, we’re living in the place Smosh used to film.” Dawn said. “And where they lived until Ian passed.”

“No, Anthony lived with his girlfriend, Ian stayed here alone.” Tyler explained off camera, and Dawn nodded.

“It’s so sad.” She said, then turned the camera back to Tyler as he pushed the love-seat into the spot where Ian and Anthony’s couch used to be. They had painted the room bright blue, which Anthony noted that Ian would’ve enjoyed. They should’ve learned to paint or have been a little less lazy, he would’ve liked seeing Ian enjoy a little blue house all to his own.

“Can you imagine him in here? All sick and sad and alone? I can’t believe Anthony didn’t know.” Dawn said, and Anthony held in a sigh. The video that came out after he had a screaming match with his former coworker, Drew, in which he admitted that Ian never told him he had cancer, and that he had loved him, and that Anthony loved him back, was the Youtube shock of the century. Nothing could top that drama, though Anthony didn’t follow any of it. He was too busy screaming, mourning, putting a gun to his head. He purposely ignored all that he could, to the point where he had an extreme disconnect with his fans, only knowing the basics.

“Yeah and we met that guy. He was weird.” Tyler adjusted the couch. “Here?”

“Left, and no he wasn’t. We met him the day after he tried to kill himself.” He could hear the frown in her voice.

“Right after he tweeted that he was taking a break from Smosh and -- what else? He ‘said some shit he shouldn’t have?’” Tyler plopped down on the couch. “That’s a croc.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, and he leaned forward, as though this was something he’d been thinking about.

“He says he’s done with his company, he comes back a week later. He says he doesn’t love Ian, but the day we see him he’s all depressed and fucking holding Ian’s clothing to take home and wear. He probably never even tried to kill himself.”

“Tyler, come on, that’s like, mean.” Dawn scolded. “You can’t say that.”

“Babe, we saw him the day after. Pills would’ve made him seem off, a noose would leave a bruise, a bullet would leave a gaping hole. He didn’t do shit and you know it.” Tyler said, and Dawn turned the camera to herself and shook her head.

“He could’ve done pills, he said like three words to us, we can’t say whether or not he was acting normal.” She said pointedly, and turned the camera back to him in time to catch his sigh.

“I still think he’s a psycho, just like Ian. Who doesn’t tell their best friend they have cancer?”

“I’m with you on that one. He was depressed or something.”

“Or something.” Tyler scoffed. “He was a complete looney. So crazy that he made his best friend lose it too, and now that guy’s claiming he tried to off himself.”

“It’s so sad.” Dawn repeated off camera, and fell silent.

“Whatever.” Tyler said with a sigh. “You know Anthony pounded him into the mattress at some point.”

“Bullshit, Ian totally top-”

Anthony went red and closed the laptop, then looked down at his shoes. He could feel Zach and Mr. Morgan’s eyes boring into him.

“This is all speculation.” He said, and didn’t look up. “Nothing we haven’t seen before.”

“Coming from the people who live in the Smosh House now.” Morgan said pointedly. “People who apparently saw you the day after you attempted suicide.”

“That has nothing to do with anything.” Anthony dismissed him. 

“It has to do with everything!” Zach said, annoyed. “Your life has been a mystery lately, anyone who’s got bonus info is gonna get taken seriously!”

“But this is just two people talking, there’s nothing here to actually be concerned about.” Anthony said, more trying to convince himself than the men before him, but Morgan shook his head.

“This will attract attention. It’s already started to from the fans, heaven forbid it gets even more from fellow Youtubers.”

The Youtube gossip chain was not on Anthony’s side since all this started. Vloggers mourned and shared their sadness with the audience when Ian died, and that was understandable. But a thousand opinions from people who were worshipped by his fanbase meant that those opinions were as important as the people they came from. When Jenna Marbles was concerned with Kalel’s silence, so was half her fanbase. When Tyler Oakley called Ian’s post-death outing anything but a surprise, his fans felt Ian’s sexuality must have been obvious. When Charlie McDonnell lamented the way Youtube friendships could fall apart, a wave of fans claimed that of course Anthony didn’t really love Ian, they weren’t really friends. They weren’t anything.

“Who fucking cares, then? We’ve had nothing but speculation lately. From our fans to that of the other Youtubers to the fucking actual news, everyone wants to know what was going on between me and Ian. This is nothing new.”

“Trying to figure out who would top is nothing new, that shit’s been old hat for five years.” Zach said. “Speculation on your suicide attempt? That’s the goddamn problem.”

“Of all the questions being asked, whether or not you did it and how you did it are not often included.” Mr. Morgan said. “And if these people have any influence at all, those questions will be asked.”

“This is a matter of protecting you.” Zach said. “This isn’t the sort of thing you’d like to have a discussion about.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Anthony knew there was a truth to their words. He didn’t know what he would do if Dawn and Tyler’s conversation caused people to ask him questions about his suicide attempt. He couldn’t imagine bumping into a fan in public, just like he had after Ian died, but this time having a teenage girl ask him how he tried to kill himself. That wasn’t a fan grieving, that was his privacy being intruded on, his rough past being brought up so bluntly, and the thought of that made him anxious.

“Anthony, I know this is a hard thing to deal with.” Zach started. “But just. Just tell me. How did you do it?”

“I’m not answering that.” Anthony said steadily, but he felt himself grow heated.

“If it was drugs, maybe we could tell people. And it would defeat the importance of their theories. They can’t prove you weren’t high when they met you.” Zach defended himself, but Anthony grew even more angry.

“I’m not. Answering. That.” He said and balled up his fists, and Zach leaned back slightly. Anthony realized he was anticipating another outburst, and took a deep breath. The last screaming match hadn’t cost him much, only the watchful eyes of the world to be directed on him, and he doubted another would fix anything.

“We have filming to do.” He said slowly, and stepped out of the office without another word. 

He walked passed Hana, who must’ve seen his annoyance, and she followed him down to the set quietly. Ever since they’d met at the park, their relationship had been friendly, albeit quiet. Anthony wasn’t one for talking as of late, and she had a sort of calm Ian didn’t, though this was something Anthony didn’t mind. It gave him time to think, it didn’t pressure him into making conversation when, for roughly the last six weeks he’d been back, he wasn’t really in the mood for words.

He still had no clue where the gun was, but he hadn’t asked her. Easing into friendship would earn her trust faster than asking outright. He’d never seen her outside of work, but when at Smosh, he would stand next to her, give her a reassuring grin when he could. They had kind conversations between takes, and they would eat lunch together, sat farther away from the rest of the crew, and that made Anthony’s day just a little easier.

There wasn’t much filming to do, and he finished it quickly and carelessly, but his mind was weighed down with something unusual. He couldn’t put his finger on what was wrong, but something stirred inside him that didn’t come from the things Dawn and Tyler had said. Towards the end of his day filming, he realized what it was.

He missed Ian. And not in the over dramatic dripping with angst way he had been, not the way he thought he did as a lost love. He just missed his friend. It was his birthday, and usually they would be together. He was lonely, and lonely had become the default since Ian had passed, but it was the first time in awhile that he’d noticed it.

After filming, he wasn’t sure where he was going when he was driving around, in the general direction of home, but not quite. But it didn’t take long for him to find himself in the parking lot of the hospital Ian had died in. He’d bet anything that Ian didn’t want to die there. He’d probably prefer his old home, his own bed, being found later by a friend.

He shuttered. He was glad he didn’t stumble upon Ian like that, glad it was just a phone call when he was sitting at his desk. He sighed and walked to the door, not knowing what he was looking for, but when a receptionist asked him, she didn’t say what, she said who. And in a split-second decision, he asked for Doctor Marrow.

The man at the desk pointed the way to him, but it was one he was familiar with. The hallway he walked down when Ian died. He stopped at a familiar bench across a familiar window, the room empty now, but he would never forget the last time he saw him lying there, cold and dead and alone. He kept walking, and knocked at a white door with Marrow’s name on it.

“Come in!” A voice called, and Anthony opened it to see Marrow at his desk, looking surprised. His tan had faded, his hair wasn’t gelled up as well as usual, but other than that, he looked alright.

“Anthony, I’m surprised to see you.” He said, and gestured for him to come in. Anthony closed the door behind him and sat in front of Marrow’s desk, in a hard metal chair that he instantly hated.

“Yeah. I just.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry about yelling at you. At the memorial thing.”

“It’s not a problem.” Marrow replied. “I understand.”

Anthony nodded and thought back to what Marrow had said to him. He’d screamed some things he’d rather scream at Ian, angry that he’d been lied to and angry that Ian had left him. He couldn’t summon that anger anymore, at least not that kind of anger. He was only sad and bitter now.

“So what can I do for you?” Marrow asked him, and though Anthony had wandered in without a mission, he knew what to do now.

“I was wondering.” He collected his thoughts. “If you have anything on Ian. Like a medical record or something.”

“Oh.” Marrow said, wringing his hands. “I’m not really allowed to share patient information.”

“But Ian’s --” He still couldn’t say he was dead, not in a regular conversation. “. . . He’s not alive.”

Doctor Marrow sighed and looked down at his papers. He was only in his early thirties, but he was starting to get wrinkles around his eyes. He grabbed a key from the top of his desk and opened a draw to pull out a file he’d had on top, which made Anthony suspect it was something he looked at frequently. He was unexpectedly touched that Marrow cared as much as he’d claimed he did.

“I’m not supposed to show people this.” He said as he handed over the manilla folder, and Anthony understood that he meant to keep quiet about it.

He opened it and looked at the top form, filled in with Marrow’s sloppy writing. _Patient referred from general practitioner following failed administration of antibiotics. Symptoms: loss of appetite, vomiting, indigestion, nausea._

“He went to his regular doctor and was given antibiotics with no change.” Marrow explained quietly. “So he was recommended to his nearest gastroenterologist for a specialist’s diagnosis.”

“That’s you.” Anthony said, and Marrow nodded.

“And you know the rest. We found out he had cancer, and he would surely die, and he made the choice not to prolong his life.”

Anthony nodded and stayed silent. He flipped through a prescription for Demerol, and one for Zaleplon, and one labeled ‘blood pressure’ that he knew was a fake. Then he came upon a black piece of plastic and squinted.

“What is this?” He pulled it out, and Marrow sucked in his breath.

“Ian’s X-rays.”

“Can I see them?” Anthony asked, but Marrow shook his head.

“You don’t want to.” Marrow said solemnly, and Anthony felt a deep and desperate sadness inside him.

“Please.” He said in a soft voice, and Marrow sighed. He held out his hand, and Anthony passed the X-ray over to him. He stood and clipped it to a white plastic board on his wall, then flipped a switch to light it up. He saw the outline of Ian’s body, his small frame and narrow shoulders, and the white spots that lit up on it.

“Here’s the original tumor.” Marrow pointed to the largest. “About eight centimeters.”

That pained Anthony to see. Poor Ian, with all that agony inside him.

“And the spread.” He pointed to the smaller spots that littered the picture. He looked over to Anthony, pity in his eyes, and it occurred to Anthony that with all the pity he’d seen since all this began, Marrow’s was the first, and it was the first to anger him. He couldn’t imagine how often Ian saw the same look from the same face.

“There was no way out for him, was there.” But it wasn’t a question. “He had to die. And he had to know he was going to die.”

“Yes.” Marrow turned off the projector and took the X-ray off. “It took almost seven months.”

“You know what?” Anthony asked as the doctor sat as his desk. “I’m never going to forgive him. I’m always going to be angry that he didn’t tell me.”

“Is that why you’re really here?” Marrow asked. “To take out that anger?”

“No.” Anthony said honestly. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

He fidgeted in the hard chair and handed Marrow the file. Marrow put it back in his desk, and folded his hands together. He gave Anthony a studious look, and Anthony looked down at his lap. He wasn’t sure whether or not coming to see Doctor Marrow had helped stave off his pining for his old friend.

“I should go.” Anthony said after a moment, and stood. Marrow did the same.

“I hope -- I wish you well Mr. Padilla.” He said, and shook Anthony’s hand firmly.

“You too, doc.” Anthony said, and walked out the door.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> could there be more denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah commentary @ jackiestolz.tumblr.com

It was the next day, a cold and cloudy Monday, and Anthony was making his way over to therapy. He had a short work day and waited out some time in the car before driving to Kris’ office instead of stopping at home and seeing Kalel. He could manage all the fake smiles just fine, but he took any reprieve he could get. He was worried that the more time she spent with him, the more weary she would become, and frustration would build.

He gave Ruby a meager half-wave as he stepped into Kris’ office, and gave him a hollow smile as he sat down. It would always feel odd knowing that Ian sat in this same chair, never knowing quite what he spoke about. About loving Anthony, about dying, about the insanity that gripped him towards the end.

“Good afternoon, Anthony.” Kris said.

“Afternoon, Kris.” Anthony replied.

“You visited John yesterday.” Kris said and sounded studious.

“Doctor Marrow? Yeah, I did.” Anthony sighed. “I guess you’re wondering why.”

“You know me well.” Kris replied with a tone that would usually warrant half a smile, but he seemed worried today. Anthony didn’t point out that he didn’t know Kris at all, only his inclinations.

“I missed Ian. And not in the way I _was_ missing him.” Anthony lifted his brow in reference to the way he thought he had felt towards Ian. “It was my birthday and I was lonely and I just missed my friend.” 

“You went to see Doctor Marrow because you were lonely?”

“No.” Anthony said. “I just wanted some connection to Ian. And the hospital was just where I ended up.”

“But you were lonely. And that’s unusual for you?” Kris asked, but Anthony just looked away, as if to say that it wasn’t unusual at all. “It’s alright for you to be lonely, Anthony. No one you know is feeling what you’re feeling.”

“Well it’s no walk in the park.” Anthony ran his hand through his hair. “It’s just permanently shitty.”

“I understand.” Kris said. “Have you tried reaching out to anyone? Even if you don’t discuss the serious matters we bring up here, it can do wonders for your mental health to gain a friend.”

Anthony pondered that for a moment.

“Hana’s kind of my friend.” He said slowly. “We’ve never hung out outside of work though.”

“Well why don’t you?” Kris asked, and Anthony gave him a small smile.

“I should ask.” Then the smile faded and he sighed. “It’s rough when you go from what I had last year to sitting in therapy figuring out how to make a single friend.”

“You’re making a lot of progress.” Kris said, and when Anthony gave him a skeptical look, added: “No, really! I was worried when Marrow told me you’d gone to see him. But it wasn’t your old vendetta. You’re moving forward.”

“Yeah.” Anthony said, even though he could still feel something holding him back. But he couldn’t dig and figure out what that was without falling apart all over again.

“I haven’t been bringing up Ian.” Kris said, looking serious. “Because I was worried about what it would do to you. But I would like to discuss him, if you think you can handle it.”

“Sure.” Anthony said, and curiosity seeped in. “What did he say to you when he came here?”

Kris leaned his cheek against his hand and thought for a moment.

“He was . . . an unusual patient. Very early on, he accepted his fate. He didn’t want to die, but he was relieved the pain was being taken from him.”

“Physical pain?” Anthony asked, and feared the answer.

“That, and the pain of living. Ian was never quite of sound mind, even if he never realized it (and he surely didn’t). He never would have killed himself, but for him, this was some opportunity for suicide.”

“Did he say that?” Anthony asked, his voice low. He could feel his eyes getting misty. “This was basically suicide?”

“No. It was an unspoken truth.” Kris said, and noticed Anthony’s eyes fill with tears. “He didn’t suffer the way you did. It wasn’t a complete breakdown in the same sense. It was just a slow loss of feeling, just a numbness that obscured his emotions and priorities. Depression is a very difficult thing to understand, Anthony.”

“I know. I don’t understand it.” Anthony said as he shook his head and willed his tears away.

“And maybe you never will. But do you sympathize with it?” Kris asked, and Anthony considered that.

“I don’t know. Figuring out Ian wasn’t some monster in the end, he was still my friend, that took a lot of anger away. I can blame him, but I can’t absolutely loathe him.”

“Let me ask you something. You’re angry at Ian for not telling you, and as you said once several weeks ago, for making you love him, for even admitting what he felt for you. And you’re still angry.”

Anthony nodded, and Kris continued.

“You thought you were in love with him because of your grieving, correct?”

“Yeah.” Anthony nodded. “Because I was so shocked and angry, so full of sadness, and I felt so -- so guilty. I thought it was all because of me, I thought he chose to die because of me.”

“He didn’t.” Kris said firmly. “He didn’t realize the severity of what was happening. He didn’t realize what it would do to you, and he never wanted to see it. He was afraid of all the changes that would come, he was afraid he would die miserable.”

“‘But I feel like shit, and I bet I would feel like shit whether you were with me right now or not.’” Anthony quoted, and Kris gave him a confused look. “Ian wrote me that. In a note the day he died.”

“What?” Kris asked, his professional manner dropping as shock flew across his face. “This is the note you yelled at me about?”

Anthony turned red. The second time he’d met Kris was in his own home, and he’d screamed at him, and briefly mentioned that Ian wrote him a cruel note that had broken his heart. He hadn’t mentioned it since, afraid of foul repercussions.

“I didn’t know he showed regret, I just thought he said he loved you.” Kris said, still surprised. “What else did it say?”

“He said he was sorry. Told me to grow old, appreciate my life. And that he -- he loved me.”

“He told you to grow old but you tried to kill yourself anyway?” Kris asked and grabbed his legal pad from the table.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t it the mood for taking orders, especially from him.” Anthony sighed. “The point is I thought I loved him because of that letter, because of all the other stupid shit in our lives.”

“And this leads to my question, Anthony.” Kris said, still jotting down notes. He paused and looked up at him, his expression serious. “Do you feel that thinking you were in love qualifies as actually being in love?”

Anthony was surprised at that, and could only give Kris a lost look in return. It egged him on some, and he rephrased his words.

“What I mean to say is, if you thought you loved him, do you feel that’s the same as really having loved him? And perhaps you merely fell out of love?”

“Whoa.” Anthony said as he knitted his brow. “I -- I don’t know.”

He thought for a moment. Was there, in fact, a difference between thinking you were in love and actually being in love? Was what he felt for Ian something real, something tangible? No. No, he couldn’t let that be it.

“I don’t think so.” Anthony said. “I mean -- I thought . . . I thought I was just tricked into something. You can’t be tricked into falling in love.”

“You felt you were tricked and cheated when you still called Ian a monster. Do you still feel he tricked you?” Kris asked, and Anthony shrugged.

“Maybe. Not on purpose. I don’t think all of that note was for me. I think, in the end, he wanted to tell me more than he wanted me to know. He wasn’t being malevolent.” He really felt Ian had been trying his best in those final moments, even if what he’d done in the six months previous had been so awful.

“So you may not have been tricked. Meaning your falling for him was just something that occurred with a rather painful series of events. Plenty of people fall in love during times of hardship.” Kris stated pointedly, and Anthony faltered.

“But it -- it couldn’t have been love. It couldn’t. Not the real thing. I thought it was, at the time. But I didn’t fall out of love, I faced reality. I learned the truth about us.” He explained.

“Or.” Kris mused. “You never fell out of love at all.”

An alarm instantly went off in Anthony’s head that told him to stop the conversation. There was something in his brain that knew this was a subject he didn’t want to touch.

“No.” He clenched his fists, his face gone pale.

“Anthony--”

“No.” Anthony repeated and shook his head. “I only thought I loved him. It wasn’t real. At least now it’s over.”

Those words weren’t only meant for Kris, they were self-assurance, and it frightened him that he knew that.

“Then I’m sorry I stressed you. I think that’s all for today.” Kris said, and Anthony nodded, stood, and left without another word.

***

It was hot out, and too goddamn humid. His bedroom was bright, and he was lying in bed, sweat beading at his brow and his breath heavy. He felt sticky and uncomfortable, but not unpleasant, as he was distracted by pleasure he was being given.

“Fuck.” Anthony whispered to himself.

“Enjoying it?” Ian asked, and Anthony looked down at him. His cheeks were bright red and his face was shining with sweat. His hand firmly held Anthony’s stiff cock, and he licked his lips looking at it.

“Ian.” Anthony panted as he close his eyes, feeling out of focus.

Ian didn’t answer, and he felt the man’s tongue on his shaft. He looked back down to see him lick up to the head and circle around the slit. He moaned as Ian’s mouth slid down around his cock agonizingly slowly, then up and back down again.

“Fuck.” He whispered again and hid his face in his hands as Ian sucked him off. He felt Ian’s hand cup his balls and cried out as he arched into his mouth.

“Ian, fuck me. Fuck me now.” Anthony groaned into his hands, and he felt Ian pull away. He moved his hands away from his face and saw Ian get up and kneel in front of him, as nude as he was, his cock hard and near his own. He was perfectly positioned in the sun, and his eyes lit up like fire and his hair had gone golden. It had been dark last time, and Anthony couldn’t really see the man in front of him. Last time.

Ian leaned over and kissed him, chaste, but Anthony pushed in for more, still thinking of that term, last time. Ian closed his hands around his hips, and something occurred to him.

“This is a dream.” Anthony said against Ian’s lips. “Last time it was dark. Last time I had a dream like this.”

Ian ignored him and kissed his jawline as he brought his hips up, rutting against him. He felt Ian’s cock touch his own, slick with precum, and he moaned again.

“You’re not real.” He said with a heavy breath, and Ian gave him a sad look.

“Don’t say that.” Ian murmured. “You’ll wake up.”

“Okay.” Anthony said to him in the smallest voice, and Ian nodded slowly.

Ian kissed his temple and ran his hands along Anthony’s thighs, a silent encouragement to spread his legs. He did so, and Ian slid his hands up Anthony’s inner thighs, making him shutter with anticipation. He looked into his blue eyes, the stare back into his intense. He moved one hand back to Anthony’s hip, and ran the other up to his chest, his fingers making circles across Anthony’s skin. Ian shifted, and Anthony felt his cock against his asshole. But as turned on as he was, everything felt blurry and out of focus.

“You’re dead.” Anthony said to Ian, whose gaze looked dejected for a moment. He leaned in and kissed Anthony tenderly.

“Let’s just enjoy this right now.” He said as he pulled away. “Let’s just enjoy what we can get.”

“Wait.” Anthony said urgently. “Don’t feel bad about not telling me. I get that you had problems.”

“I’m not real, jackass.” Ian said, sympathy in his voice, but harsh with the truth it held. “You can’t actually have some cathartic conversation with me.”

Anthony’s eyes teared up, and he felt those tears hit his cheeks immediately. He knew he could never talk to Ian again. Any time he would hear his voice would be from an old video. They would never reach some level of understanding with each other, they would never get to explain how they ruined each other and why. Ian had no idea what Anthony was going through, and Anthony had no idea what he went through.

He could feel a grimace form on his face, and he knew his cheeks were bright red as a sob hit the back of his throat. Ian gave him a look of understanding and took a hand off his hip, placing it instead on his cheek.

“I know.” He said quietly, wiping a tear away. “I know baby.”

But there was not much else this pseudo-Ian could do for him. He did exactly what Ian would’ve done, and he stayed strong and silent, unable to assure Anthony that things would be alright. Ian wouldn’t have lied and said some nicety to pacify Anthony, and neither did the fake one on top of him.

He did what he could and that was enough. He pushed Anthony’s hair out of his face, smiled a sad smile, and leaned in next to his ear.

“I’m gonna make you come in my hand.” He whispered, and Anthony nearly laughed, sniffled, and gave him a little grin as an invitation.

Ian moved the hand that was on Anthony’s chest down to his cock, still wet with spit, and kept the other holding Anthony’s cheek. Their faces were close, and they kept their eyes on each other as Ian grabbed Anthony’s cock and moved his hand slowly up and down along the shaft. He made a figure eight motion as his hand bobbed up and down, gentle but keeping on even pressure. He kissed Anthony again, still tender, and Anthony let out the smallest moan.

“I love you.” Ian whispered, and Anthony groaned again. “I love you so much.”

Anthony reached down and put his own hand around Ian’s cock, who moaned against his lips. They both moved their hands together and matched their speed, and soon they stopped kissing but kept their faces close. They were both covered in sweat and Anthony was still teary-eyed.

“I love you.” Ian whispered again, and Anthony groaned even louder. He was getting close, and he could barely keep his hand under control as he stroked Ian’s firm cock and Ian did the same to him.

“Ian.” Anthony panted beneath him as he looked up into his beautiful blue eyes. “I-”

Anthony woke up in bed, in his still dark room. It was cold and the air was dry, opposite to what he’d just been feeling, opposite to his fondest old memories of bonding with Ian on hot Summer nights. He was drenched in sweat and thankful Kalel was still asleep as he stumbled into his bathroom, closed the door, and fell to his knees on shaking legs. He longed for a rise of vomit in the back of his throat, just like the last time he had a dream like this, anything to invalidate what just happened.

Instead he found himself pulling down his tented boxes and grabbing his hard cock, jerking off as quickly as possible. Alone in the bathroom, all he could hear was his own jagged breathing, but in his mind he heard Ian’s moaning, and imagined his blue eyes inches away from him, staring him down. There were tears on his face, but it was for a different reason than last time. No longer was he scared and ashamed, now he was mourning and alone and wanting something reality couldn’t give him.

He bit down on his knuckle to hold back a strangled yell as he climaxed, and after a moment stopped pumping his cock. He sat on the cool tile for a moment, his eyes closed and his hand still in his mouth. When he moved his hand away and opened his eyes again, he looked down at his lap, at the mess that covered his dick, his hand, his thighs, his boxers. And a single thought came to his mind.

_Shit._

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> haha so remember when some of you thought anthony's denial was over? well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> commentary on my tumblr babes

It was September 25th, a full week after Anthony had a dream about Ian that ended in him jerking off in his bathroom. In the week since then, he jerked off once again in the shower, and when he thought of blue eyes, he told himself he was envisioning Hana the intern. The fact that he had two fingers up his asshole meant nothing of course.

He had a full day of work, but afterwards he was going to hang out with Hana, something he informed Kalel of with his hands on her shoulders and a kiss on her cheek.

“One step closer to getting that gun back.” He assured her, and she gave him a determined nod.

He wondered if she knew of his ulterior motives, wondered if she even suspected what he was thinking of Hana. He and Kalel were fine, but fine was the only word he could use, and he saw the way her nerves were wracked and how little she slept.

And so came another tedious day of filming, another day of baby-sitting Danielle and Howard and whichever other actors were working, another day of Zach observing them with his dark eyes and furrowed brow, the only moments he didn’t look falsely cheerful. Anthony knew he was still the morale, even though that morale wasn’t as needed now that Anthony had returned and the company was stable. But he appreciated all that Zach had done for Smosh, and subsequently for him.

When he got out at four, he drove to the local movie theater to meet up with Hana. She wore a navy cable knit sweater, something he could picture Ian in, and her hair was tied up, keeping just her swooping bangs that reminded him even more of his friend. They saw some shitty horror movie, and shared popcorn while Hana ragged on how not-hot she thought Jennifer Lawrence was and Anthony disagreed. Ian hated horror movies but liked Jennifer Lawrence, and Anthony was disappointed. He always was when he found a difference between her and Ian.

She was a secretary at her boyfriend’s contracting company and knew all about carpentry and the like, but Ian never even used a drill. Where he had been running, she had been playing tennis. When he was fond of video games and junk food (at least, when his stomach could handle it) she preferred a good book and a protein shake. It always perturbed poor Anthony, always looking for his friend and never finding him.

After the movie, the sun was setting, and they walked to this cramped little sushi joint a block away that Hana had sworn by. It was all dark inside, their menus were printed on flimsy paper, and there were water rings on the table from the last people who had eaten there.

“I am starving.” Hana looked down at her menu, finally done complaining about the movie, and Anthony agreed. “I know there’s a lot of veggie rolls here. You’re vegetarian, right?”

“No. Kalel always talks about going vegan though.” Anthony said, and she nodded.

“Both of you?” She asked, and he shook his head.

“She wouldn’t force me to. I don’t know, I like the thought of it sometimes.”

The waitress came by.

“Welcome to Sushi Palace, can I start you kids off with some drinks?” She asked, and Anthony turned to Hana and grinned.

“She’ll have the sake.” Anthony said, and she looked flustered.

“No, no.” She said with a laugh. “Mugicha please.”

“What’s that?” Anthony asked her.

“It’s like iced tea.” She answered, and Anthony shrugged.

“Well I guess I’m drinking alone. Warm sake please.”

The waitress nodded and stepped away.

“I don’t really like to drink.” She explained modestly. “Sorry you’re on your own.”

“It’s okay.” Anthony said with a wave of his hand. “Ian never used to--”

He stopped short and went red.

“I mean, I’m used to drinking on my own.” He said, and she gave him a small smile and went back to her menu. Another thing she had in common with Ian, and that gave him some relief. She took her coffee with two creams and one sugar like he used to, only ever wore shades of blue and green, scrunched up her nose and held back her laugh as much as he did.

“So what do you think of the new content?” She asked, still looking at her menu.

“What do you think of it?” He asked, and she looked up and gave a knowing little grin.

“Hmm. Where’s Zach from?” She changed the subject in a lilting voice, and Anthony felt his smile grow wide. “He’s latino but I can’t tell which country.”

“It’s not good. The new content.” Anthony said, his smile fading. “But it’s not Ian’s. I get that there’s gonna be some adjustments.”

“That’s surprising. I didn’t think you’d be so accepting.” She said honestly.

The waitress returned and set down their drinks. They both ordered some sushi rolls and she left again. Hana took a sip of of her mugicha, and Anthony took a sip from the glass of water the waitress brought with his sake.

“I promise I won’t be a drunk mess or anything.” Anthony said, and she nodded in appreciation. “But, yeah. I just don’t want to get angry at them.”

“That’s kind of you.” She said, clearly fishing, and he raised his brow.

“Well maybe I just don’t want another upset. This all feels so fragile, I don’t want things to collapse again.” Anthony said in a lowered voice, and Hana looked serious for a moment and leaned forward.

“Are you scared that if things go south like they did before, you’ll try again?” She said in a voice even lower, and Anthony knew what she meant. She was asking if he would kill himself if the perfect little lie he’d created began to unravel.

“No, I’m done with that.” Anthony said honestly. “But I don’t want things to be ruined now. We bounced back this time, but who knows if we can do it again.”

“We can.” She replied earnestly. “Don’t feel too much pressure to be perfect, Anthony, we can always bounce back.”

“If we can even call it that.” He said with a smirk. “Since our content’s so great.”

“Now that’s what I was expecting.” She leaned back with a cheeky grin. “I just mean that shit happens. People lose their jobs and their lives and everything sucks ass for a little while, but then everything moves on. The world always moves on.”

He nodded. The world moving on was good for him, but so damn terrifying. One day, this would all be old unpleasantries, one day, his entire life would be different. One day, Ian would be completely forgotten.

“Like the worst case scenario is that you lose it again and Smosh goes under. Then it seems like shit, right? Because what you want to do is get Smosh back. But getting better doesn’t always mean bringing back former glory. It just means a shitty apartment and ramen for dinner and a clearer head.”

She sat back and looked out at the other people dining, and he understood what she meant, and he wondered if Ian would’ve said the same. Probably not in his final state, but if everything was falling apart in a way that kept Ian safe and sound, across from him in a tiny booth at a dark restaurant, he would’ve agreed with the sentiment.

They continued their evening swapping tuna rolls and tall tales. Anthony kept to the truth, just as he was wont to do, and told her about celebrities he’d met and drunken Summer nights he’d been through. And she kept to fiction, just as Ian would have, and told him about girl gangs taking over New York and ballerinas destroying the circus. They had fun and enjoyed each other’s presence, and Anthony felt a connection to someone for the first time in a long time, even if it only came about because of his search for Ian.

He had just finished his sake and began telling her about the time he’d slept in a cabin with Shane Dawson when their red bean ice cream arrived with the bill. Hana reached out to take it, but Anthony snatched it before she could.

“I’m paying.” Anthony insisted, and she smiled around her spoon.

“You payed for my ticket and my m&ms.” She said, but didn’t reach out to take the bill.

“And now I’m paying for our sushi, which was super good by the way.” He said with a smile as he put his card on the table and the waitress whisked it away.

“I guess that makes this a date.” She said, and he felt something flutter in his chest. He looked down and concealed his wide smile.

“I guess it does.” He could feel the blush on his cheeks and moved the conversation along so he wouldn’t be pushing it. “So red beans in ice cream, huh? That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, they use a lot of uncommon stuff. My sister sent me a recipe last week for an Asian-style avocado smoothie.” She said between bites.

“Older or younger?”

“The avocado?” She said with a smile, and he gave her a look. 

“The sister.” He said flatly, but still with a trace of a smile.

“She’s older.” Like Ian’s, Anthony recognized. “Do you have any siblings?”

“A younger brother.” He took a big bite of ice cream, and would have ended the conversation there, but he realized that this was actually a way of bringing up the gun naturally. He didn’t want to talk about something that hurt him, but he made a promise to Kalel, and it was his own ass on the line, too. “He’s not doing so well.”

“Is he sick?” She asked, genuine concern in her voice, and he shook his head.

“He’s in a reform house. That’s where he went after juvie.” He paused to measure the pity on her face, but none came, only an attentive expression that urged him forward.

“See, he was always the black sheep, and he got into drugs when he was younger. Then some other kid shot him, Ian actually saved his life. Then our parents sent him to a boarding school, but he dropped out and ran off. Eventually got arrested for beating up some guy and taking all the cash from his register.”

“That’s rough.” She said with a curt nod. “He still on drugs?”

“No, he says he’s clean. He’s trying to get his GED.” Anthony said, no longer smiling.

“Then things are going well for him.” She said, and Anthony shrugged.

“Well, he’s still got a bad attitude, and when I visited a few weeks back, I found a gun on him.” Anthony said and gave her a steely look.

“Oh.” Then a moment of realization. “ _Oh._ ”

“Yeah.” Anthony said as the waitress returned his card.

“So that’s where you got it.” She said, stating the obvious, and she looked uncomfortable, her eyes trained on her lap.

“Yeah, that’s where I got it.” Anthony echoed. “Where did you put it?”

Her eyes darted back up to him in surprise, then she swallowed hard and regained her composure.

“Is that why we’re here? For your gun?” She asked cooly, and Anthony stayed calm.

“No, we’re here because I wanted to watch a bad movie and eat weird ice cream with you.” He gave her a charming, lopsided grin.

“You shouldn’t call it weird just because it’s from another culture.” She said, but he wanted to stay on the subject.

“The gun would just be a perk. Just knowing where it is would be a huge relief.” Anthony said, and she her cool expression remained unchanged.

“Well too bad.” She said, and he nodded and decided not to push it.

“Okay.” He tucked his card back into his wallet. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” She picked up her bag and slid out the booth, and he followed her out.

As they walked down the sidewalk, the radio played on the speakers, and he gave her a nudge with his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Too high, can’t come down.” He sang in a ridiculous high-pitched voice. “Losing my head spinning ‘round and ‘round. Can you feel me now?”

She smiled and nodded her head to the beat, then joined him for the chorus.

“With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride! You’re toxic! I’m slipping under! Taste of the poisoned paradise! I’m addicted to you, don’t you know that you’re toxic!?”

She giggled, and Anthony took a breath.

“I promise that wasn’t the sake.” He said, and laughed.

“We sounded terrible!” She replied and laughed along, and Anthony felt glad that he earned it.

They fell into an easy silence and walked slowly, full of food, Anthony barely buzzed. He looked down to her (she was exactly Ian’s height) and gave her a fond smile, and she wasn’t looking back, but it didn’t matter.

“So does your brother know?” She asked eventually, a casual air about her, and Anthony was too comfortable to be worried about it. He only sighed.

“Yeah. He’s pissed. He said I was a coward for not -- not doing it.” He looked away from her.

“That’s terrible. Why did he say that?” She was digging while avoiding causing strife between the pair. Another for the similarity pile.

“I don’t know. We had a huge argument, and the first part he was right about, I admit that now, but then I was angry because he let me take his gun and knew I would try to -- well. He knew. And he didn’t do anything to stop it.” They had arrived to their cars, but Anthony stopped on the sidewalk and tucked his hands in his pockets.

“What did he say?” She leaned her hip lightly against his car.

“He said he didn’t have a choice because he would get thrown out on the streets if the reform house found out he had a gun. Then he called me a coward.” Anthony said, and it occurred to him that had he succeeded with what he tried to do that day, the gun would’ve been linked back to him somehow, and he would be thrown onto the street anyway.

“No offense, but that sounds fair.” She said, and he gave her a half shrug.

“I guess it does. But I’m still mad at him.” He walked over to her and leaned next to her. “I just wished he put some more effort in trying to stop me.”

“Can I ask you something?” He couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but nodded anyway. “Is this like a genuinely-love-my-weird-dysfunctional-brother type of thing or is it a I-feel-guilty-so-I-occasionally-visit-my-shit-head-brother type of thing?” She asked, and he raised his brow.

“It’s the first one.” He said with a chuckle, but she didn’t smile.

“I wouldn’t judge if it were the second one.” She said, and he believed her. Similarity.

“It’s the first one.” He repeated.

“Then accept that he’s a douchebag and move on. If you want to forgive, forgive, if you want to hold a grudge, hold it. Talk to him or don’t. Just stop being pissed about it and do whatever the fuck you want.” She said, and Anthony tilted his head.

“But I tried to kill myself.” It was rough to say aloud. “And he didn’t stop it.”

“He gave you his reasons, and you’ll never know his full story. So who gives a shit? Stay mad if that’s what gets you going, or just move on.” She shrugged.

“What, just forgive him?” Anthony asked incredulously, but she waved him off.

“Nah. It doesn’t all have to end in forgiving or forgetting. Maybe it’s just something you sit on the rest of your life. You can be pissed at him when you’re fifty, but you’re having Christmas dinner together.” She looked away from him, and he thought about that.

He was doing the same thing with Ian, at the end of the day. He was pissed that Ian had done all he’d done, but he still considered him his best friend. He couldn’t help his fond feelings for him, despite all his wrongdoing, and for his brother it was the same.

“Okay.” Anthony said, and she looked back at him. “Okay.”

She nodded and looked pensive, and he gave her a faint smile.

“Thanks for the sushi.” She said, and he grinned wider.

“Thanks for showing it to me.” He answered. “Next time let me show you something great.”

“Oh? Like what?” She nudged his shoulder, and he nudged back.

“Let me think, asshole.” He said as she let out a loud laugh. “And thanks . . . for my brother. It makes sense.”

“Maybe you just needed to hear it out loud.”

“Maybe. But now I know what I have to do, so thank you.” He stood up straight, and she did the same.

“Goodnight, Anthony.” She said, but made no move to hug him or anything, and simply walked back to her own car. He watched her climb in and take off, and kept standing there after she was gone.

He was going to speak to Lee again. He was going to treat him with kindness. He was going to befriend his brother.

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> whoops i'm late

It was the second of October, a full week since Anthony went out to dinner with Hana. When he’d gotten home, he’d told Kalel that he was closer to getting the gun, even though all he’d gotten from his date were a few cool words and a complete dismissal. But if he could earn her trust, that’d be enough.

She had convinced him to visit Lee, and now he was sat in his car driving over to the reform house to see his brother for the first time since August. He had decided not to forgive, but not to forget, and he intended not to argue with him. It would be a usual visit, a usual conversation, and he wouldn’t let it lead to anything more, because the unusual visits were always the ones that cost him.

That first odd visit had granted him a gun, the one that nearly took his life and was causing so much trouble now. The second had ended in a screaming match, and he wasn’t very fond of being called a coward just because fate, or whatever the fuck else was up there, had decided to spare him with Charlie’s cruel sacrifice. 

He parked in the lot and grabbed the plastic bag on the passenger’s seat. Earlier he’d decided to get Lee a sweater to wear as the weather got colder. He signed in and walked to his room, nervous as he knocked on the door, unsure of what to expect. Lee opened it, looked him over nonchalantly, and stood aside for Anthony to make his way in.

“Got you something with sleeves.” Anthony said as he tossed the bag onto the sofa that Lee was returning to. He noted that Lee was wearing a rather old hoodie with a floral printed tank top underneath, not very Autumn attire. Lee pulled the black cable knit out of the bag and nodded.

“I could fuck with this.” Lee said, and slipped out of his hoodie. “What’s up?”

“Not much.” Anthony said, relieved that Lee didn’t seem to want a fight. “What’s up with you?”

“I just got a sweater.” He said, and seemed to be deflecting. He pulled off his tank top, and Anthony nearly flinched at how thin he was. “I saw that you went back to Smosh.”

“Yeah. It’s uh . . . I don’t know. It’s fine.” Anthony said as Lee donned the sweater and crossed the room. He flicked on the light in the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror.

“Like me right now.” He said, and made finger-guns to his reflection. “Thanks dude, these go with my shoes.”

“No problem. Is the black okay?” Anthony said as Lee sat back down.

“It’s fine. But seriously, Smosh. Who’s writing now?” Lee asked, and Anthony was a little taken aback. He didn’t know that Lee was aware of Ian’s writing. He was more invested than Anthony had thought.

“The Smosh Pit writers.” Anthony said as he sat down.

“Is that why it sucks so bad?” Anthony gave him a look. “Sorry man, Ian was funnier, as the writer and the actor.”

“They’re not all bad.” Anthony said, thinking of someone in particular, and it must’ve shown on his face, because Lee gave him a confused look.

“What, you got a crush on the blond boy?” Lee asked, and Anthony shook his head.

“One of the girls, Hana. I took her on a date last week.” Anthony said.

“Are you still with Kalel?” He asked, a little confused, and Anthony nodded.

“I’m just . . . trying things out. She doesn’t need to worry about it.” He said, and pushed down a sliver of guilt. He probably should’ve felt worse, but with all the feelings he was shoving down, that shame was hidden as all hell to him. Lee thought for a moment.

“Which one is Hana?” He asked, and Anthony fought down a smile.

“A few inches shorter than me, pale, brown hair, blue eyes.” He said, and he could see Lee mentally going through all the actresses.

“Accent?” He asked, and Anthony shook his head.

“That’s Rosa. Lighter brown, Ian’s shade.” He instantly knew that was the wrong thing to say, and winced as Lee’s eyes went wide.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Lee asked him, not quite disgusted but certainly alarmed.

“That’s not what it’s like.” Anthony lied, to Lee and himself, but Lee was the only one who wasn’t buying it.

“Tell me everything about this girl. Now.” He demanded.

“Don’t worry, she’s great. She actually convinced me to come see you again.” Anthony said in attempt to convince him, but he only narrowed his eyes.

“Why did she do that?” He asked in a low tone.

“I don’t know, because she’s nice? Why are you getting so-”

“How the hell did I come into the conversation, anyway? Were you complaining about your delinquent brother?” He snapped, and Anthony nearly jumped back.

“No! I asked if she had siblings and she asked me the same, Jesus!” He said, and they both paused and took deep breaths. Lee ran his hand through his hair.

“Let me ask you something. Did you ever tell this girl she looks like Ian?” He asked, and Anthony nodded slowly. “When?”

It was the day he tried to kill himself, when she brought over Ian’s mail, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to tell Lee that. He felt suddenly uncomfortable.

“When?” He repeated, looking anxious, and Anthony decided to fess up to avoid another fight.

“The day I tried to -- tried to kill myself.” Anthony said, pained, and bit his lip.

“And then you went on a date.” He said slowly, and when Anthony only stared at him, took that for a yes. “And it went well.”

“Yeah.” Anthony asked, a bad feeling brewing in his gut.

“So she knows you’re only dating her because of Ian.”

“That’s not what it’s like.” Anthony repeated, but Lee waved his hand.

“Your denial is irrelevant. You were attracted to Ian, then you were attracted to a girl who looks like Ian. And she’s well aware. And she hasn’t brought it up at work or privately.” Lee said, his brow high and his lips pursed.

Anthony stared at him, gaping. Lee had always figured out things about Anthony and his friends that he himself could never wrap his head around.

“So you get why that’s fishy?” Lee asked, and Anthony nodded and felt a little nauseous.

“I don’t know what this means.” He admitted, and Lee shrugged.

“It could mean a lot of shit. Maybe she’s in it for cash, maybe she’s looking forward to the attention she’ll get later on.”

“That doesn’t sound right. I don’t think she would do that.” Anthony said, and rubbed his eyes as Lee crossed his arms.

“She’s an actress, bro, she can have you think in whatever way she wants.” Lee said, then let out a huff. “Let’s be glad she doesn’t have anything more to hold over you.”

Anthony froze, and he knew Lee noticed him stiffen.

“What? What does she have?” He asked, and looked alarmed as the realization came to Anthony’s face and caused him to go pale and his eyes go wide.

“Don’t worry about it.” He said, but he could feel sweat on his forehead, and Lee looked undeterred.

“What the fuck is it?” He asked and looked genuinely worried.

“Don’t get mad.” Anthony put up his hands, and Lee looked surprised.

“I can’t promise that!” He stood up. “Just tell me! What is it?”

“It’s your gun.” He said with a wince as he felt his whole body withdraw. “She has your gun.”

“What? Anthony, what the fuck?” Lee said loudly, and Anthony held up his hands again.

“I’m trying to get it back.” He said in attempt to pacify him, but Lee’s terror was dissolving into anger.

“Get it back? How the fuck did it get away from you?” He spat, and Anthony rushed out his answer.

“Kalel called Smosh and asked someone to take it! It just happened to be Hana, that’s why I went out with her! To get it back!” He said, and Lee spun around and didn’t look at him as he paced up and down the other end of the room.

“Fuck, Anthony! Fuck!” He yelled, and threw out his hands like he wanted to break something, but his home was so barely furnished there was nothing for him to grab. “This fucking sucks!”

“I’m gonna get it back!” Anthony cried out, and he so dearly wanted to quell his brother’s anger, though he felt plenty himself. “It was an accident!”

“A stupid accident! And Kalel pulled this shit? Did she lose her mind?” He yelled, and Anthony narrowed his eyes.

“Watch your fucking mouth, that’s my girlfriend you’re talking about.” He said, and Lee let out a loud laugh.

“The one you’re cheating on?” He asked with a grin. “The one who ‘doesn’t need to worry about it?’”

“All we did was see a movie!” Anthony yelled, but he felt his face turn red from the lie. It was an actual date, while his girlfriend sat at home and waited for him.

“No, all you did was pass my gun around!” Lee pointed to him and shouted in frustration, angry and filled with a need to lob accusations.

“Maybe if you hadn’t gotten a gun this wouldn’t be a problem!” Anthony shouted.

“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to kill yourself this wouldn’t be a problem!” Lee bit back just as quickly.

“Fuck you!” Anthony yelled as he felt his vision blur.

“No, Anthony, fuck you.” Lee said, the contempt obvious on his face. “Do you even get how bad this is? My entire life is riding on a suspicious girl that you know jack shit about.”

“But-”

“But nothing. I work a nightshift at a factory, Anthony, I spend six hours a day on an assembly line! How am I gonna hold down a job with more legal problems? How am I gonna keep a home?”

He stared at Anthony, as though expecting an answer, but Anthony knew not to give one. Lee had a harder life than he’d ever known, and it was a difficult thing to watch, sometimes so difficult that instead of doing so, he ignored his brother’s sad little life. He filmed his skits and went on nice dates and didn’t think about the sad things that needed to be thought about. And that was normal and healthy, but poor terrible Lee with his poor terrible life had seen himself more disregarded than cared for.

“At the end of the day, all your drama is gonna get me is an unemployment check and a place on the streets, if I’m lucky. But for you, all this ends in a pity-fuck. Because that’s what she’s gonna do for you Anthony, and when it’s over and you see that second of shame on her face, you’re gonna deserve how slimy and worthless and guilty you’ll feel. Because that’s the big finale of all the shit you’ve done, that’s what your life is leading up to.”

Lee stared at him, the contempt so obvious in his features that Anthony couldn’t respond. His brother hated him. Genuinely hated him. Years of caring didn’t make up for all the moments Lee was shunned and alone, all the awkward hesitation when they had to talk about his addiction or the robbery, every moment of their visits when Anthony could only tell a few anecdotes and Lee could only yawn. He’d been so complacent with his treatment for so long, clearly expecting anger and mistrust as a default, but Anthony had gone too far, he’d done too much.

He put Lee in the line of trouble in his attempt at suicide. He risked the rocky life Lee had built for himself, one he built nearly entirely on his own. Anthony wasn’t there to hold Lee’s hand when he sobered up, and he wasn’t there to pay the bills, and he wasn’t there to kiss up to the probation officer. Lee went through withdrawal, got a job as a high school drop out, and kept himself out of juvie, all on his own.

“I’m sorry, Lee.” He said, choked up as tears spilled down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fix this.” Lee said, notably not accepting the apology. “Try not to fuck me over for a change.”

They stood in tense silence for a moment, Anthony in tears, Lee with his face scrunched up in disgust, and when Anthony could think of nothing more to say, he turned and left without another word.

He thought about what Lee had said in his car ride home. He was right when he pointed out the oddities in his and Hana’s relationship, the way she knew she looked like a man Anthony had once claimed to love yet had no qualms regarding it. It was suspicious, surely, but he couldn’t believe she would be up to no good, she just didn’t seem the type. But maybe it was only her resemblance to Ian that made him feel that way.

Ian was someone he’d avoided thinking of for the past two weeks, ever since he had a wet dream that ended in him crying and jerking off in his bathroom. He’d chalked that incident up to a fever dream, and refused to think on it any longer than the time required to condemn it. He couldn’t let it be anything more than that, couldn’t dwell on his feelings for his friend, because he knew what he would find if he started digging.

His visit with Lee was meant to be a white flag. He wanted their relationship to improve, he wanted things to be good again. It seemed that everything was only getting worse, and that his recovery was slipping down hill fast. But Anthony would still cling to the notion that things could be alright, that this unsteady peace could keep hanging on as long as he needed it to, because he couldn’t live with any alternative.

 


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25 on 25

Monday, the fifteenth of October. Anthony was sitting in Kris Rosenthal’s waiting room, listening to Ruby type with perfectly manicured nails. It didn’t take long for Kris to call him in, and he sat down in the soft chair he took every Monday at three.

“Good afternoon, Anthony.” Kris said, polite yet weary. Some of the books on his shelves had been tucked into boxes, and the coffee table that usually sat adjacent to the chairs was gone. His slow but steady retirement had become visibly obvious for the first time.

“Afternoon, Kris. How’s retiring going?” Anthony asked, and Kris seemed to hold back a sigh.

“It’s taking its time.” He answered, glancing over to the half-empty bookshelf. “And its toll. Patients are picky, they don’t want to give me up.”

“Are you only retiring because of Ian?” Anthony asked, and Kris looked at him thoughtfully.

“I made my mistakes with him.” He said softly. “I can’t let that happen to someone else.”

“But that just means you have to work harder.” Anthony urged, but Kris shook his head.

“You almost killed yourself while you were my patient. I can’t imagine the guilt I would’ve felt if I had failed both of you boys so horribly. I’m too old for all this, I’ve done it far too long. It’s just my time.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Anthony nodded and stared out into the distance. The first time he met Kris at Ian’s funeral, he called Anthony son, and Anthony felt that he must have called Ian the same, must have had a fondness for him that could only be expressed with that word. He hadn’t called Anthony that word since then, because Anthony asked him not to, but he knew Kris must have felt the same vein of care for him that he had for Ian.

He’d never really considered their relationship until that moment. Had Kris sat in therapy with his friend one day, just knowing it was over? Had he cried when Marrow told him Ian had passed? Had it hurt that, after hearing so much about the best friend Ian had loved, he finally met that friend, but their first meetings were all indignant? It was the first time he realized he wasn’t the only one in those sessions who missed Ian. Though perhaps they missed him in different ways.

He shuddered, and Kris ended their small minute of silence.

“Anthony?” Kris asked, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

What was wrong was what he thought about missing Ian in different ways. What was wrong was the implication behind it, the hint at something more than just friendship. But he couldn’t touch that without revealing the truth behind it, a truth he didn’t want to know. So he voiced instead what he thought would be the best distraction.

“Nothing.” He gazed at Kris blankly, then blinked. “I’m cheating on Kalel.”

Kris’ jaw dropped as he processed what Anthony said to him. He sputtered out his next word.

“But. But.” Kris said, and looked down at his notepad. “What?”

“I’m cheating on Kalel.” Anthony repeated blankly. “Remember Hana?”

“Your coworker. I encouraged you to befriend her.” Kris said, flipping back in his notes.

“I did more than befriend her.” Anthony said ruefully, and Kris looked up at him in shock.

“Anthony, this isn’t what I meant.” Kris said, and he looked somehow saddened. “Or wanted. Does Kalel know about this?”

“She knows I’ve been with Hana a few times.” Anthony said, and thought back. After his argument with Lee he’d taken her to the zoo, then once to the beach. He’d told Kalel both times, but that was as far as his honesty got. While she sat alone at home on the weekend, he was out allegedly trying to get his gun back. It would’ve been okay if it were a just-as-friends scenario, but he knew the way they sat so close together and the way he touched her when they walked along the shore were damning evidence of his ulterior motives. “She doesn’t need to know the rest.”

“Oh, Anthony.” Kris said with a sigh and set down his legal pad, very visibly distressed.

“I didn’t think you’d get this worked up, Doc.” Anthony said, confused, and Kris pinched the bridge of his nose.

“When you encourage me not to retire, and then things like this happen? It shows my foolishness, my mistakes.” He looked at him wearily, and Anthony could feel the sadness barely below the surface. “I failed Ian, and I’ll fail you.”

“I don’t exactly see how this is a failure.” Anthony said, and felt a bit annoyed. Kris was judging him harshly, and maybe he deserved it, but lately he’d been nothing but petulant and wanted to defend himself.

“And I don’t exactly understand how this happened! Is she related to Ian?” He questioned, and Anthony tilted his head.

“No, why?” He asked, but Kris looked thoughtful and didn’t answer.

“She’s a coworker -- she replaced him then?” He asked, but looked disappointed when Anthony shook his head.

“She was one of twenty new hires, and none of them replaced him.” Anthony said with gritted teeth. Half of them had been fired already, but none of them were good enough to even touch Ian.

“Well does she look like him?” Kris asked, and Anthony went rigid. Kris spotted it and nodded. “That makes sense then.”

“That’s not why I’m dating her.” Anthony said and crossed his arms.

“And if that’s not a lie, then it certainly helps.” Kris shot back, and Anthony was surprised. “I never thought that this is how you would deal with the feelings you’re having so much trouble discussing.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anthony said, his face hot.

“That’s our whole problem, you see, Ian never realized the severity of his situation, but you just bury it all down.” Kris said. “You can’t live in denial forever. What do you intend to do with this newfound desire? Will you leave Kalel for her?”

“I don’t want to do that.” Anthony shook his head.

“So you plan to just string them both along?” Kris asked, and Anthony sighed.

“I don’t know, maybe. I want to stay with Kalel, and I want to date Hana. I don’t have a plan following that.” He shrugged and leaned back in his chair, frustrated and drained, and Kris eyed him with disappointment.

“Don’t you feel bad at all?” He asked, and Anthony could tell from his voice that he wanted a ‘yes’ in return. He wanted to know Anthony had that level of goodness in him somewhere, or maybe he wanted to save him while he could still be saved, though from what was really the question. Maybe himself.

“Kris, I’m repressing a lot of fucking feelings. Guilt is probably mixed in there somewhere.” Anthony responded and tried to keep casual, tried still to keep it all buried down. 

“You should stop repressing them then. You know the truth as well as I do.” Kris said with a sense of urgency, and Anthony’s frustration continued to build.

“And what truth is that?” He asked, his voice a little loud and his scowl strong.

“What you feel. Who you feel for.” He urged again, and Anthony nearly snapped.

“Stop. We’re done talking about this.” Anthony said, and Kris tilted his head with a sad expression on his face.

“You are going to explode if you keep doing this.” Kris said. “You’re going to fall apart. Please cooperate with me.”

“No!” Anthony stood in defiance. “I’m not your sociology paper, you’re not in Brown anymore! All you do is study us!”

“And people don’t like it, and they think it’s cold, but it doesn’t mean I don’t care.” Kris said, and it was almost a plea. “Cheryl, Kalel, John, your coworkers, they all care. They all want you to be well. You’re not doing them any favors.”

“I’m doing just fine!” Anthony said, though tears pricked at his eyes.

“You’re pretending, we both know it!” Kris said, and he stood up, too, much to Anthony’s surprise. “Don’t tell me I need to work harder to save people and then refuse to work with me! Don’t blindly support me when you can’t faithfully support yourself!”

“I am so done with this! This is all bullshit!” Anthony cried out, and motioned to the office around him. “This is all just bullshit, and I won’t do it anymore!”

“Anthony --”

“No! I’m tired of your degrees on the wall and the legal pad you take notes in and the fake-cozy vibe this room is trying too hard to have. I’m tired of pretending to be comfortable here!” Anthony yelled, and tears spilled down his cheeks. He would’ve gone farther, said more, maybe things he wasn’t ready to say, but Ruby suddenly burst into the room.

“Doctor, is everything alright?” She said in the doorway, and Kris kept his eyes on Anthony. He was so short before him, and so serious now that he’d switched from the Hawaiian shirts Anthony had come to known him in back to the stiff suits Ian probably knew him for instead.

“Anthony, if you wish to terminate your sessions with me, you’re free to do so.” Kris said in a soft voice, still keeping eye contact, and Anthony couldn’t yell anymore, not with the shame permeating him so.

“Okay.” He said simply, almost in a whisper. He stood a moment, immobile, still frustrated but no longer able to vent. When he saw Ruby move from the corner of his eye, as though she was preparing to escort him out, he turned away from Kris’ stony face, and walked out of that office for the last time.

 


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yelling! woohoo!

It was Halloween, and the weather had reacted appropriately. It was finally cool, very humid, and in the evening the fog had rolled in and the sky was already rather gloomy. All the lights in Anthony and Kalel’s home were already lit at only six o’clock, though Anthony’s seat beneath a purring Kabuki and behind the television was quite dark. While Scream continued to play, he heard Kalel bounce down the stairs.

“How do I look?” She called out to him with a smile, and he glanced over to her. She was dressed like Princess Jasmine, and dressed well, with gleaming earrings and a goody bag she’d turned into a tiger.

“Fantastic.” He said, and Kabuki jumped off his lap to go rub against her leg.

“You should’ve gone with shining, shimmering, splendid, but I’ll forgive you.” She answered, and pulled her phone from her bag.

“Everyone’ll be here in half an hour.” She said after a moment of silence, and Anthony turned back to the movie. “Are you coming or not?”

“I already told you I wasn’t.” He answered cautiously, but his nerves were on edge. The rocky peace they’d held for so long was crumbling, he could tell.

“I know. You told me a million times. But the offer’s still on the table.” She said tersely. She was stressed and tired and had spent too long pretending everything was alright. Anthony didn’t answer in hopes to avoid a quarrel.

“I mean.” She began, and he winced internally, “You haven’t spoken to a lot of these guys since Ian passed. It would be nice to see them again.”

“Mhm.” He responded eloquently. 

“You’ve just been really anti-social these past few months. I don’t think it’s good for you.” She said, concern in her voice, but Anthony kept his eyes on Ghostface. “So do you want to come?”

“No.” He answered simply, and couldn’t read the silence that followed.

“Fine.” She answered after a moment. “That’s fine. Why should I try to help at all.”

She sounded annoyed, and stomped off for a moment, only to return with her golden flats.

“Why should I want to go out on Halloween like a normal couple.” She huffed, and Anthony groaned.

“I’m just not in the mood, babe.” He said, and looked at her in time to see the fire behind her eyes.

“You’re never in the mood!” Kalel cried out. “We never go out anywhere! This can’t be healthy, Anthony, honestly.”

“There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to go out.” He said, and she bit back instantly.

“There is when your best friend died four months ago and you’re still afraid to be in public without him!” She shouted. “There’s something wrong when four months later you _still_ haven’t recovered!”

“You know this has been hard for me.” Anthony said, seething, and stood from the couch.

“It’s been hard for me, too, but at least I’m trying to get along with you! You’ve been ignoring me for ages!” She balled up her fists and looked beyond angry. They were finally falling apart.

“That’s not true!” He lied in his own defense, but they both knew the reality of their situation.

“Yes it is! It’s not just going out!” She said, but seemed to stop herself. He could tell whatever she was going to say would be cruel, but with his temper beginning to flare, he almost wanted to argue.

“Then what else is it, Kalel?” He asked boldly. “What the hell else?”

She stared at him for a moment, and he could tell from her knitted brow and the way she bit her bottom lip that she was trying to work up her own courage. She sighed and tilted her head in a way that reminded him of his last therapy session with Kris, fifteen days previous.

“We haven’t had sex since we got back together.” She said, her voice as kind as she could make it. “And before that, since Ian was still alive.”

“Oh, so that’s the problem. That’s the fucking problem, just because I’m not in the mood--”

“For months on end? Something’s clearly wrong--”

“Are you fucking joking, Kalel? I would never pressure you into anything!” He yelled truthfully, hurt at the thought of her doing the same.

“I’m not pressuring you! I’m not saying we have to do anything!” She shouted in desperation. “It’s just weird, Anthony!”

“We’ve been busy, I’ve been mourning, there’s no time for that! Why are you making me out to be the bad guy?” He asked, and she looked annoyed.

“I’m not!” She claimed defiantly, and he shook his head.

“Yes you are! Just because I don’t want to have sex with you right now!”

“We never had an issue when Ian was alive, and now we are! That’s the goddamn problem!” She yelled, and he paused. It was admittedly very true, but he didn’t want to say that.

“It’s not because of Ian!” He lied.

“Everything is because of Ian! All of this bullshit is because of Ian! It’s not his fault and he’s not the bad guy either but our lives have gone to shit since he left!” She waved her arms a lot when she fought back, screaming from the other side of the room.

“I know that!” He answered.

“So why aren’t you trying--”

“I am fucking trying, Kalel, I’m trying!” He yelled, furious that she’d thought otherwise.

“You’re not trying to be intimate with me! You’re trying to fucking fake it ‘till you make it but you refuse to touch me! You can’t fake that!” She screamed, and he paused. It was true, he knew it was, and he didn’t know how to dispute it. She’d figured out that his life as of late had been a complete lie, that he was bottling up everything he’d been too scared to feel, and he had to wonder what else she knew.

“I’m lonely.” She said, calm now. “I’m getting frustrated. I need some affection.”

“I’m sorry.” He answered her, dejected. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I want you to say you’re sorry, put on the sultan hat I made and go out with me. And then I want you to take me home and pound me against a wall. But I have a feeling that’s not happening.” She tilted her head again, a repetition of that sad look. It was more than pity, and he knew why. He made people sad. Everything he did, it hurt them, and it’s hard to pity who hurts you, but Kris and Kalel did.

“I just. I’m sorry.” He said, and he knew his eyes had gone red-rimmed.

“I said I was lonely. I know you’re lonely, too. Come on, let’s go out, it’ll be fun.” Kalel answered, and he could tell it was the biggest white flag from her he would ever get.

“I don’t want to.” Anthony said, even though he knew it was the wrong thing to say to keep the charade going. He wanted to keep the game up, but there was only so much he could do. Kalel wasn’t the only one who was tired; they only differed in how badly they needed to deny reality.

“You know what, fuck you. Fuck you, I’ll go out and have a great time.” Kalel finally snapped at him, and gave him a sour expression as she wiggled her feet into her golden shoes. He stood in silence for a moment, and the way his brow knitted and his chest pounded told him to walk upstairs and hide in his room until Kalel left. But he was rooted to the spot as she walked to the kitchen, grabbed her phone and charger from her purse on the counter and placed both into her trick-or-treat bag.

“I bet you’re not lonely at all, you asshole. I bet you’re real fucking popular with that girl Hana, aren’t you.” She spoke again bitterly, and he fumed.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, but didn’t want an answer.

“You know what it means. You went on a jog the other day, you went to the stupid zoo last week. Is the fact that she looks like Ian subconscious for you, or did you already figure that one out?” She retorted, and Anthony gasped.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, but it was just another lie.

“Bullshit! Bullshit you don’t know! You’re out with some girl all the time, she looks just like Ian--”

“I told you I made a mistake! I told you I never loved him!” He yelled in frustration, so angry that she didn’t believe him, so annoyed that he almost couldn’t believe it himself.

“And you told me you were with her to get the gun back, but where the fuck is that? Where the fuck is our gun?” She questioned, her hands up in the air, and looked around as though trying to find it in their own living room.

“It takes time!” He responded as she stepped towards him, still in a mock-search for the gun.

“Fuck you, ‘it takes time!’” She yelled, then gave him an accusatory glare. “And fuck what you told me. You can’t butt-fuck him so now you get to do it to her? Is that it?”

“I am not sleeping with her!” He practically screamed with desperation. At least he knew this one was true.

“Then you want to!” She yelled, and when he paused, she gave him a wry smile. “So what’s stopping you? Guilt? Worried you’ll cry in bed? Because I don’t believe it’s your love for me. I don’t believe in shit that doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Kalel.” He said with a shaky voice, high-pitched almost to the point of squeaky. “Don’t -- don’t say things like that.”

“Why not? Because it doesn’t fit in with the life we’re pretending to have?” She asked, waving her hands around to their nice house and clean things and their supposedly happy partnership.

“I _do_ love you.” He answered honestly, and she lowered her head and turned away. He suspected tears were hitting her cheeks for the first time.

“I don’t know if I can believe you. I don’t know what I can believe anymore.” She whispered, and he could hear the way she held back tears.

“I am not cheating on you. Believe that. Believe that I love you.” He stepped towards her. “I adore you. And these times are tough, but we’ll pull through. I promise you we will.”

“I don’t want to buy your promises anymore. I can never tell if they’re true or just part of the script.” She turned to him, tears in her eyelashes and a pout on her lips. “We don’t have to pretend to be normal, Anthony. We’re allowed to admit that we’re fucked up.”

“If we admit it, this whole thing’ll fall apart.” Anthony whispered, and he felt a tear hit his cheek as his vision blurred.

“I definitely don’t believe that.” She said, and then surprised him with a watery laugh. He raised his brows and she gave him a sympathetic look. “This sucks.”

“Yeah.” He said simply and wiped his cheek. They stood in silence for a moment and collected themselves with deep breaths and troublesome thoughts that they both kept hidden.

“This isn’t a break-up.” She said, and lifted her own dainty hand to dab tears off her waterline.

“Okay.” Anthony said, and as he sniffled a car drove up and parked in front of the house. Its headlights flashed across his face as it arrived, and froze on Kalel’s. She stared at him, and he could see her make-up was barely touched, and how beautiful her blue-grey eyes were. He missed her while she was still standing right in front of him.

“Because I’m too tired to fight any more tonight.” She said, a distant look on her face. “And now I want to go out and relax.”

“Okay.” Anthony repeated. She stared at him sadly for a moment, and then walked past him without another word. He stood still and didn’t look behind him when he heard the front door close, then squeezed his eyes shut as he continued to stay stiff in the silence. There was some background noise of a car door slamming, and then the car drove off, and from behind his lids he could see the beam of the headlights slide across the walls and fade away.

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more yelling! woohoo!

He waited until Saturday to see Hana again. The third of November, the air crisp, the wind an unpleasant shock, and the park he was meeting her in a little bit emptier. It wasn’t the park he and Ian had always filmed in, the park that he met her in when he tried and failed to get his gun back. No, it was a nature trail with a river, what would’ve been a nice date under different circumstances.

When Hana showed up, she wore a kind smile and a blue scarf. When she laughed he could see her breath. It would’ve been a lovely time, a lovely date, if Anthony was in a better place. But he was in a shit place, a sleeping on the couch place, a desperate for a gun and desperate to get his girlfriend back in good favor place. There were bags beneath his eyes and stubble on his chin, and when that sharp wind blew his bushy, curly, hair into his eyes he felt himself pained with annoyance.

“So what made you choose this park?” Hana asked him as they strolled along a dirt path. To their left was a river, to the right some grass, and farther away a thick patch of trees.

“I wanted to take you somewhere you’ve never been before.” Anthony answered as he took her hand. “You’ve been to the beach and the zoo.”

“Like you said at the sushi place.” She grinned. “Never keeping your word though, considering I’ve been here before.”

“Dammit.” He smiled, and she giggled. “I thought I had you this time.”

“Maybe the next one.” She said in a fond voice, and they continued to walk in silence.

He stared out at the trees, listened carefully to the flowing water, and knew it should’ve relaxed him, but he was tensed, and felt that his mood could even be described as crazed. He knew another night of such little sleep would cause his already blood-shot eyes to twitch like a mad-man.

He shuttered when the wind blew and thought of all the things he needed to say to this girl. He wanted to keep favor with Kalel, but he wanted to keep Hana, too. He wouldn’t choose; he refused to make that choice despite the way he sank deeper and deeper into his own shitty life, the way he drowned in sorrow but couldn’t save himself without admitting things he didn’t want to admit. This was for the girls, it was, but he knew where his problems with them stemmed from.

“Anthony? You okay?” Hana asked beside him, and he looked over to see her swing their intertwined hands and give him a feeble smile.

“I’m fine.” He answered and pointed into the distance. “Let’s go to that footbridge that crosses the river.”

She looked away from him, reserved, and he wondered what she was thinking. He could never figure it out, not with her. 

He needed that gun back. To appease his brother, to appease Kalel, to ease the pressures on himself. If he could do it kindly, if he could do it softly, if he could do it as a man who had finally earned this girl’s trust just as he said he would, then he could get it back with no grievances from her and suffer no punishment himself.

The bridge was metal and rusted. There was a set of stairs leading up, and as they walked to the center he noted that they were twenty feet from the water, a river that went down maybe twenty feet below the surface. Hana stopped and looked into the distance, and he stood next to her and watched her adjust her scarf.

“It’s fucking cold.” She mumbled, and he nodded and looked out into the distance as well. There were trees everywhere around the river, but most of their leaves were stripped, and the remainders were murky brown. There was an occasional shock of orange, but not much. The place probably felt more secluded in the Summer; with the bareness of the trees, Anthony could see the roads beyond the park.

“I’ll warm you up.” He said and released her hand in favor of wrapping his arm around her waist and squeezing her close to him.

“You soppy prick.” She grinned, and he snorted and went quiet. Ian would’ve said the same.

For a minute it was only them and the sounds of the river, the cars in the distance nearly drowned out by the babbling of the water and the sounds of leaves swaying on trees. He imagined it was peaceful for her.

“Hana.” Anthony said to her, though they both kept their eyes on the horizon. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?” She asked.

“For everything you’ve done for me. Your kindness. Your encouragement.” He murmured, and he saw her lower her head and grin softly from the corner of his eye. “You should know how fantastic you are.”

“It’s not a problem, Anthony, don’t even worry about it.” She answered. “I want the best for you, of course I’m here for you, of course I’m kind.”

“Really, though. You talk to me about a lot of shit, you know when to just stay quiet and hold my hand through rough waters, you’ve been selfless for me. Nothing but compassion.”

She blushed, and Anthony reached up and brushed her hair from her face. Their eyes connected as he left his hand cupped tenderly on her cheek.

“You are too wonderful, Hana.” He said as warmly as he could. “And I was wondering if you could help me out even more.” 

He leaned forward slowly, and gently as possible, kissed her. Her lips were soft as she kissed him back, a little less than chaste. He pulled back after a moment, and she opened her eyes and let out a little breath.

“Okay.” She said with a surprised little grin, and she sounded like the wind had been knocked out of her.

“I really need my gun back.” He said, and saw her smile falter by just a fraction.

“What?” She asked, and was still smiling but looked confused.

“You know it belongs to my brother. He’s scared.” Anthony explained, and her eyes searched his face as though looking for a real answer.

“He doesn’t have to be. I’ve kept it safe.” She said, and lost her grin.

“And I appreciate that. But you understand that it’s a concern.” He rubbed his thumb against her cheek, and she leaned into his palm and blushed.

“And you understand that I took it away for your safety.” She said, in clear debate on whether or not she should give the gun back, but she looked so content being held by him that he was sure he could get it.

“I won’t try that again. Trust me. I’m never trying that again.” He said, his words true and voice sincere.

“I took it away because I couldn’t trust you.” She said flatly, and he deflated slightly. “And you’re trying to get it back just like I thought you would.”

“You had to know I would want it someday. It’s a dangerous weapon.”

“Like this?” She asked incredulously, and put her hand over his. She moved it away from her face and turned away from him, his arm still wrapped around her body as she looked out to the horizon.

“I really need that gun back.” He barreled on, and though she didn’t move away there was a scowl on her face.

“Stop.” She said, her voice gone flat again. “I’m not giving it back to you.”

They fell silent, and he unhooked his arm from her waist and let it fall back to his own side. He took half a step away from her, faced in her direction as though challenging her.

“Why not?” He asked, practically demanding. “Really, why not?”

“I don’t trust you.” She answered, her voice hard as she stared into the distance.

“Honestly?” He asked, his voice a little louder. “After all this, after how much better I’ve gotten, you still think I’m going to kill myself?”

“. . . I don’t know.” She said, and he felt his face redden with annoyance.

“Are you joking? You don’t know? Where’s the debate here?” He threw his arms up at the question. “I don’t want to kill myself! I want to stay alive and well so I can be with you!”

“No! You-” She turned to him, frustration showing clearly on her face, but she seemed unable to put her words together. “We went on all these nice dates. We’re friends. And now that you’ve got me where you want me, you’re asking for the gun. What was all this for? For the gun?”

“Of course not! Why would you ask me that?” He asked defensively, and she took a step back.

“Because I don’t trust you! I think you’re a fucking liar!” Hana yelped, which surprised Anthony.

“I’m what? I’m a liar? What the fuck have I lied about?” He asked angrily.

“I don’t know! I don’t know! But I took the gun and suddenly you’re so interested in me--” She said, her voice high-pitched and desperate.

“That’s not--”

“No! You kiss me and you ask for it right after! You tell me you want to stay with me but you go home to Kalel!” She said, and her voice grew a tad bit louder.

“You have a boyfriend! And if I knew you had a problem with that--” Anthony began, but she cut him off again.

“Well I’m not supposed to have problems! I’m supposed to be your cool side-bitch, I’m supposed to be exactly what you think the ideal is!” She yelled out, only confusing him.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I never fucking understand you! I can’t fucking choose, I can’t choose between you, okay? I don’t know what the fuck to do about it!” Anthony responded angrily. His voice had gotten even louder than hers.

“You could try getting a fucking reality check! You could ask yourself why you’re interested in me!” She shouted out, and Anthony paused. He felt dread and anger combine inside him in the most horrible way.

“Well look who’s the fucking liar now! Look who it is now!” He said after a moment, and she looked flustered.

“What?” She asked simply, jolted by his accusation.

“At least I can catch you in it! You know you look like Ian, we both know you know!” He said and pointed, but she was quick to hurl back a related truth.

“You know that’s the only reason you’re dating me!” She said, and he nearly jumped back as though physically repelled by this.

“That’s not the only reason! But you’ve been acting like I never said it! I told you months ago and you haven’t said anything since! It’s fucking suspicious!” Anthony said, finally voicing what his brother had said to him so many months ago, his biggest fear about what this relationship really was.

“What the fuck am I supposed to say, Anthony? What can anyone say to that?” She shouted, so loud now that her words echoed in the empty air around them.

“The truth! You could’ve told me straight up how you felt about it! I still have no fucking clue! Are you freaked out and avoiding it? Are you taking advantage of me? Who fucking knows!” He was animated when he argued, all wild hand movements and exaggerated features. It was something he was learning about himself lately.

“I’m not taking advantage of you, Anthony.” She said and stared him down, clearly unsure of what to say to prove this.

“How do I know that? How do I know you’re not just in this for the fame?” Anthony asked, and ignored the part of himself that felt like an asshole for doing it.

“I’m telling you I’m not. If you could just trust me--” She began, but he cut her off.

“If you can’t trust me then why the fuck should I trust you?” He asked, and she became obviously frustrated again.

“You’re only saying that to get your gun back! You’re only saying that to guilt me!” She snapped at him.

“And you’re only in this because you feel bad for me! This is all gonna end in a pity-fuck!” He cried out. He had finally voiced his brother’s largest concern, or rather the fact Lee thought was true and reveled in, so enthralled at the thought of Anthony suffering after all his older brother had put him through.

“If you think I’d ever fuck you then you’re crazier than I thought. But yeah asshole, pity is the key word.” She spat, and Anthony shook his head. He didn’t want to believe it was only that. He didn’t want to only see the worst in her.

“Why are you with me? Why are you even here?” He asked boldly, and she swallowed hard.

“I thought I liked you.” She said, her voice stiff. “Clearly I haven’t been thinking straight.”

“It’s my fucking gun.” Anthony said, his voice just as stiff. “Give it back. Now.”

“Or?” She asked and quirked her brow, and Anthony felt so exhausted and so frustrated that he could burst.

“Or I’ll fire you. You can’t replace Ian for shit anyway.” Anthony said.

“Well I guess you’ve learned that by now.” She said, but she wasn’t talking about her job. Anthony could no longer pretend she was the one he was fantasizing about, he could no longer hope to fuck her to get closer to a dead man. The wind blew, and her hair whipped into her face. She kept still and patient until it died away.

“Give me the gun.” Anthony practically growled, and she gave him a tired grin. For a moment, he thought she looked teary-eyed.

“Fuck off.” Hana answered, and turned and walked away without another word.

He kept standing on that bridge and listened to that frigid water flow as he watched her walk away. There was a very faint feeling in his chest, this dull stabbing, that told him he had fucked up monumentally. He lost her; a great girl, almost innocent in all this bullshit, and he lost her. He lost another connection to Ian.

Standing there in the cold as the wind hit his face, he thought about what he needed to do. Who he let down. Who he had to let go. Things were settling in their place now. His story was coming to its end.

It was just too bad he didn’t get that gun back. He could really use it right about now.

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a singular moment of joy? weird huh

The night after he’d had his shouting match with Hana, he’d slept in his car. Parked in a Starbucks lot, playing Tetris on his phone because he hadn’t had the guts to scroll through Twitter in months, he knew it was a low-point. Not in his life, fuck no, he’d gotten way lower, but in his relationship with Kalel. Try to fuck another girl, fail miserably, spend the night in the backseat just to avoid his girlfriend. It was one of the few times in that short, hellish period where he knew he had to stand up and tell himself enough is enough.

He got them drinks when the place opened up in the morning. A pumpkin spice for her, and an iced vanilla latte for him, because he recalled that Ian had liked them. After he paired those with two blueberry scones, he drove home without the radio on, donned in shades for when the sunshine occasionally peeked out and touched his face.

He pulled into his driveway and balanced the cups and doggie bag precariously as he got out, fiddled with his keys, and opened the front door. The house was silent, and he wasn’t sure if Kalel was up or not as he set the drinks down at the breakfast bar. He sat at a stool, and when he saw Kabuki walk down the hallway he made a little chirping noise to call the cat over. It was a peaceful Sunday morning.

With Kabuki sat on his lap, he took another sip of his latte as he heard a footfall down the hall, and looked up to see Kalel, still in a nightie. She walked over without looking at him and sat opposite him, then took a sip of the drink he got her. He pulled a scone out of the paper bag and put it on a napkin in front of her, then did the same for himself. He picked at it silently for a moment, while she didn’t touch hers.

“You slept at her place?” She asked quietly, and he didn’t look up.

“No. I slept in my car.” Anthony said, then paused for a moment. “She told me to fuck off.”

Kalel reached for her scone. Kabuki jumped off his lap. They went silent for a minute.

“Why’d she do that?” She asked finally, and Anthony was surprised, but answered civilly.

“She got mad when I asked for our -- for Lee’s gun back. And there was other stuff, but I don’t know.” He shook his head, and she gave him a slight nod and went back to her scone.

They fell silent again, and Anthony thought back to the girl, to the moment he saw her walk down the steps to that bridge and far away from him. It was a sad sight, but he supposed that maybe it was a necessary one. 

“Anyway, I was tired, and I decided to sleep in my backseat.” Anthony shrugged, and felt her eyes on him.

“You could’ve slept here.” She said, still quiet.

“I was tired.” He said, though that wasn’t quite an answer. He looked up to her and watched her thoughtful gaze.

“So it’s over.” Kalel said, back on Hana.

“I guess.” He said simply, a little harsher than he wanted to. He didn’t want this to be bitter.

“Do you want it to be?” She asked him, and he couldn’t quite figure out her tone.

“It has to be.” Anthony answered, and it seemed to be a good enough reply for her.

“So what now?” Kalel asked, and maybe he wished that there’d been some hope in her voice. But her words were only thoughtful, disconnected from all this shit.

“I should go out with you sometimes.” Anthony said. “I should meet you halfway.”

“Thank you.” She murmured.

“But I can’t.” He continued, and recognized how heavy those words were. “Don’t ask me why. I don’t have an answer.”

Kalel looked downcast at this.

“But you should.” She said in a small voice, and he swallowed hard.

“Should doesn’t mean I will.” He said firmly, and she nodded. “What I want you to know is that you’re right. You’re right about a lot of shit.”

“About Hana.” She supplied. “About our intimacy. I never should have pressured you.”

“You never did.” He assured her. “You were lonely, you said it yourself.”

They could only look at each other for a moment. He could only think of everything he’d done.

“I only ever kissed her.” Anthony said, and Kalel closed her eyes.

“I don’t care.” She said cooly. “I don’t care what you ‘only’ did. You still did it.”

He supposed he should’ve apologized, but a cruel part of him wasn’t very sorry. He had done exactly what he wanted to do, and it didn’t work out. It was wrong, yes, but he didn’t want to apologize and take it away. He wanted it to happen and he wanted the act to stand resolute.

“Kalel, you are beautiful and young and healthy.” Anthony said to her, and she opened her eyes and nearly smiled. “And I’m not anymore.”

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head. “You’re not some hopeless old man. Every time you fall asleep, you’ll wake up again. Don’t say that.”

“I’m not giving up hope. I’m accepting the truth.” He snorted. “For a change.”

“What truth is that?” She asked, her brow raised.

“The truth is that you deserve something I can’t give you. The truth is that I need help you can’t give me.” Anthony said, and Kalel bit her lip. She seemed to understand what was going on.

“Just because I’m in a healthy place and you’re not.” She began slowly. “That doesn’t mean I deserve more than you. You aren’t lesser.”

“I am with all the shit I’ve done.” He said gruffly. “I am in the way I’ve treated you.”

“But not because of the shit in your head and not because of how you’ve been since Ian died.” She urged. “I never want you to think otherwise.”

She placed her hand over on the counter. He got the hint and held it with his own.

“You are my best friend.” He said to her, and she ran her thumb along his knuckles. “But I think that’s all you should be.”

Her eyes watered as she nodded. Anthony clung to her hand even tighter.

“I don’t want you to be in love with him.” She said in a tight voice, which surprised him. After everything, she still came back to that. He considered his words for a moment.

“I’m worried that denial wasn’t my first response to that.” He finally said in a low voice.

She let go of his hand and pulled away, then crumpled up her napkin and used it to dab at the corners of her eyes. He fidgeted in his seat and made slurping noises as he emptied his latte. Their silence wasn’t awkward anymore, wasn’t tense, because the fight was over. There was nothing left for them.

“I’m a bad person.” Kalel sniffled and fought a grimace. Anthony could tell that she was feeling her own regrets and resentments about their relationship; he wasn’t the only one who’d messed things up.

“You’re not that bad.” Anthony answered. “All your bad’s understandable.”

She laughed, and her nose was all red and her eyes were shining, but she was still beautiful. Anthony felt a surge of pride for her, his dear friend, the girl he used to love.

“And one day, yours will be, too.” She said.

They could make this work. They would. For the first time in a long time, he knew he’d done the right thing. He knew something in his life was going to be alright. Anthony suddenly felt lighter, no longer burdened by this particular sadness, nearly overjoyed at the knowledge that he’d found a silver lining. Every other problem lingered in the back of his mind, but for now, he’d attained a peace he never thought he’d know.

“I suppose you should blow up the air mattress and put it in the guest bedroom until we figure out what comes next.” Kalel said and shook him from his thoughts.

“We have an air mattress?” Anthony asked, and she giggled.

“Maybe I should’ve told you that instead of letting you sleep on the couch.” She grinned, and he smiled and shook his head.

“Shut up and finish your coffee.” He said, and stood up to collect their garbage.

“I’ll grab the sheets out of the linen closet in a sec, but you should start moving some clothes into the drawers.” She said, her tone a little more cheerful.

“Got it!” He called out as he walked away, and he thought of how cleansing it could be to tidy up the house, to work hard taking care of himself in what was often the only way he could. He understood why Ian liked cleaning so much.

He almost understood why he thought of his old friend in that moment.

“Anthony, I’m gonna turn on Pandora!” Kalel yelled to him from the other room as music started to play.

“Keep that song!” Anthony called back, and surprised himself with a laugh. “Wow, Fall Out Boy, I miss that band!”

“Miss it longer, bitch, I’m playing Drake!” She walked in with a laugh, and he set down the clothes he was holding to grab her by the waist and wrestle with her for her phone. Her laughter sounded out as he got a face-full of hair and nearly stubbed his toe against the bed -- her bed now. 

As they moved Anthony’s clothes from one set of drawers to another and blew up an air mattress (with some difficulty), Anthony reveled in the lightness he felt, in the way the sun was setting on their time together. Kalel’s struggle was over, at least the one she’d had with him, and she didn’t have to hold herself back or feel lonely because of their relationship. He was glad he had given that to someone. He was glad that in improving himself, he’d created some form of happiness in another.

And when the sun peeked through and shined on her smile and warmed up both their faces, he felt that maybe all that trouble had been worth it. Maybe her happy ending was worth it. Maybe if all the shit they’d done to each other resulted in such a fantastic friendship, it wasn’t so shitty after all. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! tomorrow's my birthday! and as a birthday gift, i'm asking for something super special; leave a comment telling me what you think of the story so far! tell me if you like it, which characters interest you, give me some predictions, whatever you want! i would really appreciate it <3


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i finished writing this 20 seconds ago

November fifth. After a weekend of screaming at Hana and breaking up with Kalel, maybe it wasn’t the best day to be going into work. It had been an exhausting two days, and walking into Anthony’s personal stress factory wasn’t the smartest way to leave those days behind, but he really had no other options.

On his way up to Zack’s office, he felt more eyes on him than usual, and noticed the odd whisper come up between coworkers. Word must’ve gotten out about he and Kalel’s split. When he got to Zack’s door, he knocked quickly, used to being the subject of speculation but never comfortable with it.

“Come in!” Zack called out, and he swung the door open and found Zack, thankfully alone. Mr. Morgan had a tendency of hanging around Zack since Ian passed, and Anthony knew why. Morgan was supposed to go over business affairs between him and Ian, but he’d been testy at first, to moody, to having a full-on screaming match with his former employee, Drew. Zack had become the morale, and it was no contest on who Morgan would rather speak with.

“Lines?” Anthony asked, and Zack paused his typing to open up a desk drawer and pull out a few sheets of paper. He handed them over, and Anthony glanced at the title, “If Beyblades Could Talk” and held in a sigh.

“How are we on the Tyler and Dawn situation?” Anthony asked. They’d been keeping tabs on the vlogging couple ever since they admitted to their seven hundred subscribers that they’d met Anthony the day after he tried to kill himself, and that they’d doubted that he’d tried at all.

“On Friday they uploaded a chubby bunny challenge.” Zack replied easily and leaned back in his chair. “Subscribers still at about one thousand.”

“Good.” Anthony said. They’d feared a huge kickback after all the speculation the pair had made, but after a hike in views and subscribers, they seemed to be topping out. It was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one, and Anthony just felt relieved that no one had pressured him into explaining how he tried to kill himself. It turned out that the Smosh fanbase had nearly revolted when they saw the video, and promised each other not to give them the views.

Anthony felt his chest swell up when he recalled the day Zack had told him that. Back then, he was only thankful for his own skin being saved, but now, it was nice remembering that there were people out there looking out for him, and they were real and solid, not some distant theory of an audience.

“Thanks, Zack.” Anthony nodded, but didn’t move to leave. “Seriously, thank you. You’ve been great since Drew left.”

“No problem.” Zack said and sat straight again. “I just want to help our people.”

Anthony smiled, and for a change it was genuine. Zack seemed to notice and beamed, which really just made Anthony glad that at least someone truthfully cared about Smosh.

“Coming down?” Anthony asked, and pointed his papers to the general direction of the stairs to the green screen.

“No, I’ve got paperwork.” Zack said. “But Mr. Morgan’s waiting for you.”

“Great.” Anthony muttered, and Zack gave him a lopsided grin. “I’ll see you later then.”

“Have fun.” Zack said as Anthony walked out, and Anthony snorted as the door closed behind him.

Down on set, the first thing he saw was RJ in a blue body suit with matching face paint, and he held back a groan as he walked over to the young actor. RJ, Hana, and Rosa were the only actors left after twenty hires, cut away after dislike and poor performances.

“Mr. Padilla, please, we’re on a tight schedule.” Morgan found him immediately and guided him towards make-up. “Hana didn’t show up today and she’s not answering her phone. I knew having so few actors was a bad idea. If Mari doesn’t show up soon--”

But Anthony stopped listening to the man at the mention of Hana not coming in. He had to assume that she would quit after the whole ‘having an affair with a guy who was only interested in the gun she stole from him’ thing. But it was still a jolt to realize that now, all he had were these two kids he didn’t know, Morgan nagging at him, Zack stuck in his office, and Mari as a back-up running late. It was rough, not loving his work anymore.

“Have you read your lines?” Morgan asked, and Anthony shook his head.

“I just got them.” He answered, and Morgan made a sound of disapproval.

“Well hurry up then, we ran out of cue cards.” He said, and left Anthony alone to memorize his words.

He was shoved in front of the green screen a few minutes later, after not memorizing a damn thing, just looking at the typing in silence, reading the same bland sentences over and over again with no new understanding at each passing.

“Action!” Peter called out, and Anthony looked to RJ, who looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“It’s your line, Anthony.” Morgan called out, and Anthony sighed.

“Hey, wow, what’s that?” Anthony asked, his voice loud and monotone and obviously uncaring.

He wondered when he allowed himself to become so complacent about the work they put out. When had the standards for these scripts dropped so low? When had he cared so little about the actors? Why did he let the best actress they had slip away?

“Anthony, your line.” Morgan called out in annoyance.

“Who the hell wrote this?” Anthony called back boldly, and he saw RJ take a half-step away from him.

“We try not to tell you that anymore in case you get upset.” Morgan replied curtly.

“Good thinking, because this is the shittiest thing I’ve ever read.” Anthony said, and he saw the faces around him become downcast. They knew another eruption was coming.

“Mr. Padilla, please--” Morgan began, but Anthony cut him off.

“We can’t film this. We can’t publish this. It’s disgraceful.” Anthony spat. “You realize are fans are actual people, right? They’re not our money machine, we can’t just turn out crap and expect them to take it.”

“Mr. Padilla! If you have any notes for the script then please, let me know about them!” Morgan stated, his voice a little louder.

“No!” Anthony said. “I can’t fix this!”

He realized what he had said and thought about it. He’d been out of the game so long, and even now couldn’t get back in. Could he fix Smosh? Could he save them?

“Look.” Anthony addressed the crowd firmly, and they all looked to him with wary expressions. “I know this all started after Ian died and I bailed. I get that, I get that some of this is on me. But I can’t fix it right now. I _can’t_.”

It was hard to admit the obvious out loud, and it hurt in ways he didn’t expect, and poor Anthony felt as helpless as he did after Ian passed. He turned to RJ and looked the blond in the eye, and RJ looked back, though he was clearly nervous. Anthony could see him visibly shaking.

“I’m sorry you have to work with these lines. I’m sorry you have to deal with this.” Anthony said to him, his voice wavering, and it was sincere. RJ only nodded curtly, maybe so that Morgan wouldn’t see it and cost him his job. Maybe it was just so he wouldn’t be screamed at.

“I need some of you to support me. I need you to step up the way Zack stepped up.” Anthony called out to them. “We need to make Smosh good again.”

“Please, no one encourage him.” Morgan said and stepped towards Anthony, then lowered his voice in a clear attempt to soothe him. “Anthony, it’s alright. We’re all friends here, it’ll be alright.”

“No, it won’t! We’re gonna crumble if we keep doing this!” Anthony yelled out, wide-eyed as he felt a burn in the back of his throat from choking back tears. “I can’t fix it, half of it’s my fault but I can’t fix it! We have to change this!”

He looked out to the thirty-something people that were staring at him, but none of them made a move. Their eyes darted to the ground, they awkwardly shifted positions, and not a single one of his coworkers spoke out with him. It occurred to Anthony that the last time he started screaming at Smosh Headquarters, someone had been fired, and he left the company, which almost doomed them in the process. Of course no one defended him -- no one supported him. He was alone in that room full of people.

“Someone help me. Please. I can’t fix it. It was mine and Ian’s and I can’t fix it.” Anthony said, and his vision went misty. It was a tender thing to say aloud, but he was sure if anything could get people to speak up, it would be that. For the first time, he used all the pity Ian would’ve hated to see to his advantage.

“Anthony--” Morgan began, and he mentally willed the man to fight against him. Even though he wanted to yell at him, wanted to have a shouting match like he’d had with Drew, he knew it would be advantageous to make Morgan the villain. Everyone around him would root for him, for the underdog, and something would change. Finally, something would change!

“Anthony!” He heard a familiar voice cut in, and looked over to see Mari rush over.

“I’ll talk to him, Mr. Morgan.” She said, and Anthony nearly swore aloud. It was the first time he’d managed to be so clever in ages, the first time he wasn’t just a pawn in his own work, or before that just a pawn in Ian’s story. He wasn’t a piece of the tragedy, he was more, he finally had some control.

“Anthony, it’s okay, it’s fine.” Mari cooed, and ran her hand up and down his arm.

“Mari, please.” He shrugged her off, but she only stepped closer.

“I know it’s hard after a break-up. It must be really hard without Kalel.” She said softly, and Anthony suddenly felt his face go very red.

“You didn’t have to come into work today.” Mari said, and Anthony’s vision blurred. “No one would hold it against you.”

But they all did. They all held negative feelings towards him, he realized that now. He was a crazy actor, he was their shouting boss, he was weak and unpredictable when they needed a strong leader.

“Mari, I--” He started, his voice strained, but couldn’t speak beyond that. He looked around the room and saw nothing but faces staring at him in morbid curiosity, people who used to adore him.

“I shouldn’t have come in today.” He mumbled, and felt hot tears drip down his face.

“It’s okay, Anthony.” Mari said tenderly. “I can help you get out of here.”

“I can’t -- I don’t want--” Anthony said, and his voice, like his body, held a small tremor. Panic was seeping into him, but he couldn’t explain to kind Mari why he was feeling what he was feeling.

She made a hush noise and tried to grab his other arm, but he wriggled out of her grasp, and gave her a nervous look that made her pause.

“I -- I. I can’t, Mari. I can’t save us.” He whispered to her, but the room was so silent he knew that everyone had heard it. It was a truth that they needed to accept. A truth about a lost leader, broken down into nothing.

“Let’s go, Anthony.” Mari said softly, and he let her guide him out.

They stepped out to the parking lot, and Anthony took deep breaths in attempt to calm himself as he felt everyone’s eyes on his back. Mari stayed silent until they reached the parking lot, then spoke again in the same soothing tone.

“Can you drive yourself?” She asked, and he nodded. “Do you want me to call someone? Should I call Kalel?”

He shook his head. Kalel was busy apartment hunting, and now that she was just an ex, he didn’t want to bother her.

“Who should I call?” Mari asked, and he wiped his eyes.

“There’s no one to call.” Anthony said, and walked to his car with Mari trailing behind.

“A family member? Another girl? Do you have a therapist?” Mari persisted, and he stopped at his car and turned to her.

“I don’t have any of that, Mari. Who do you want to call?” He asked, and she bit her lip.

“Besides Ian?” She asked, and Anthony gave her a sad smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been hard.”

“Yeah.” Anthony nodded. “It has been.”

He opened his car door, but Mari held out a hand to stop him.

“But where are you going?” She asked, and he thought about that for a moment.

“Now that you’ve asked, I know exactly where I’m going.” Anthony smiled at her confused expression. “Thank you for everything, Mari.”

***

The drive to the hospital was quick, and when he walked up to the receptionist and asked for Doctor Marrow, he felt blank. Not calm, per say, but ready. Ready for something important. He walked down that long white hallway and knocked on Marrow’s door, and after he heard his voice, stepped in.

“Anthony.” Marrow sat up straighter at his desk, having been bent over the pile of papers at his desk. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Really?” He asked as he sat down in that godawful stiff metal chair.

“Yes. I had hoped to see you again.” Marrow said, and shuffled his papers around.

“Last time I was here, it was because I missed Ian.” Anthony said. “I just wanted a connection to him.”

John nodded, and Anthony shuffled his feet.

“I guess now . . . I guess I just needed someone to talk to.” Anthony said and rubbed the back of his neck, and Marrow looked at him thoughtfully.

“Do you need me to call Doctor Rosenthal?” He asked, and Anthony shook his head. “I know you two had an argument, but if you need help I can get it for you.”

“No. I just can’t deal with therapy anymore. It doesn’t work for me, I can’t keep pretending it does.” Anthony said with a sigh. “He told you about our fight?”

“Yes. He was upset. He thinks he failed you.” Marrow said, and Anthony looked down at his lap. “What did you come here to talk about?”

“Well. . .” Anthony started, wringing his hands. “Lately I feel like. . . I feel miserable. But I’m getting better, I really am, and I have these moments of clarity that I never thought I’d see. These moments where it looks like everything’s alright and I feel peaceful. And then I just . . . Drop back down again.”

“You drop back down?” John questioned, and Anthony nodded.

“I fought with people, I broke up with both my girlfriends, I think I had a panic attack at work today. Sometimes I want to die, then a day later I just feel good again, out of nowhere.” Anthony said, and John looked at him thoughtfully.

“Do you have a history of depression?” He asked, and Anthony shook his head. “So it’s environmental.”

“It’s--” Anthony paused and put his head in his hands. “I’m missing something. There’s something I need. I’m right on the edge of it, John, I know it.”

“Anthony.” He started, and Anthony looked up. “I’m not great at dealing with emotions. But it sounds like you’re confused, you’re stressed, and you’re . . . I don’t know. Like you’re waiting for something.”

“I think I am.” Anthony said as he pondered that. “I know something big is coming. Something that’s going to piece all this together.”

Marrow shifted in his chair, and Anthony wondered when he’d gotten so comfortable with the man. He wasn’t as old as Anthony had once thought he was, maybe five or six years older than him, and he wasn’t as stiff and careless. He dealt with misery for a living, and distanced himself from it naturally. But he couldn’t distance himself from Ian’s plight, and now he did the same for Anthony.

“I’ll see you again.” Anthony said, and stood. Marrow seemed surprised, but stood as well and shook his hand.

“I’m glad.” He answered, and Anthony nodded in agreement and left the office without another word.

Now all he could do was wait.

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck the denial! The denial is over!

There was an incredible tension in the air of Anthony’s home. Somewhere between the packing tape and bubble wrap, he felt this immense pressure weighing down on him, this expectation of sorts. He was caught up in this sense that everything was falling apart and coming together at once.

He sighed in the silent room. It was November tenth, and Anthony hadn’t gone back to work since he had yet another nervous breakdown and Mari had to escort him out. No one had contacted him except for Zack, who called once but left no message when Anthony denied it. He figured that just showed how little he was wanted back. The house was empty save him and Kabuki, who was sleeping on Kalel’s bed and not his own. Kalel was still out apartment hunting, and she’d told him that she wanted to look in Los Angeles. He was too afraid thinking of the future to consider if he ought to move there as well.

He supposed it was the best thing to do. The Smosh House wasn’t theirs anymore, and the company only filmed on green screen in their LA headquarters. He wasn’t speaking with his brother, he didn’t have a therapist to worry about. And he didn’t have any place left with Ian.

He stood, grabbed his keys out of his pocket, and walked briskly out the door on an unexpected mission. As he got into his car, he thought about where he could go to find a place he’d been with Ian, an entirely untainted memory. As he drove out of his driveway, Anthony briefly considered going to Ian’s childhood home, but he thought of the wake and the blue flowers Ian had given his mother just before he passed and decided not to go there.

The park they used to film at was a reminder of an old meeting with Hana, a failed attempt to get a still-missing gun back. The Smosh House was now the residence of a young couple who’d made their names on calling Anthony a liar. The studio was a terrible place to even think of going, the cabin his parents owned that he would occasionally stay at with Ian was occupied by, well, his parents, and they were the last people he wanted to see.

He could go to Ian’s grave, but he didn’t want to stand there waiting for him. He wanted to go someplace where he could connect to his memory.

“You idiot. Why is this so important to you?” Anthony grumbled to himself, then got a wonderfully stupid idea.

He lived maybe thirty minutes away from his and Ian’s elementary school, and he drove there in silence. He mentally berated himself a little, but other than that, didn’t think things through very much.

He parked in the completely empty back lot of the school. There were some cars upfront that he assumed belonged to an assistant principal or the like, someone who would stay inside their comfortably air-conditioned office. He walked all around the building and tried to look blasé, when he finally spotted one of those aforementioned air-conditioners. 

He peered in to see it was in the nurse’s office, and pushed the window up easily. He grabbed the air-conditioner, pulled it out carefully, and set it on the grass, then climbed into the small room. He thought about how breaking into an elementary school was definitely the most illegal thing he’s ever done, but had a brief ‘fuck it’ moment before he could fully doubt himself. Then he closed the window behind him and took off through the halls.

The place was smaller than he remembered, but he hadn’t been there since sixth grade, so of course it would be. He somehow remembered exactly where to go, and as he walked quickly and quietly down the hallways, he briefly questioned his sanity. It wasn’t as though this was the first sign of him losing it, what with the months of screaming and crying, but he didn’t come here to be crazy, he came for a purpose, and he would set his goal clear of mind. No matter what anyone else said, this was just something he needed to do. Though he’d really prefer to have his mission realized than get arrested and end up in a straight-jacket.

He entered a room that hadn’t changed in a decade and shut the door behind him. It was Mrs. Ramsey’s classroom, with twenty five little desks arranged in five neat rows. Anthony looked to the side near the window, towards the back, and the image that came to mind was a new kid sitting by himself. A kid that needed a science partner.

He met Ian in this room. He made a good friend, he went to a sleepover and marathoned Smash Bros. They drove to high school together, they made goofy videos together, they dropped out of college together. It all started in this room. This was the one space they had that wasn’t tainted by a bad memory. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to feel, but anger was at the forefront. He had to break into a school just to get somewhere he could be comfortable.

“This is all I have with you.” Anthony leaned forward and rested his hands against the desk Ian once sat at. “We used to have the whole damn world, and now I only get one classroom.”

He pushed the desk over, and it toppled with a loud bang, but as he let out a heavy breath, no one came to investigate.

“Fuck this. Fucking--” He ran his hands through his hair. “Fuck this place. How much have I been through, and this is all I get?”

He paced up and down the row.

“With how much you’ve put me through, this is all that’s left?” He asked loudly. “I’ll never forgive you. I almost understand it, but I’ll never forgive you!”

Anthony let out a shaky breath and felt frustration rattle his insides.

“You kept your cancer hidden because you were afraid of the world’s reactions, and then you left me behind to clean up your mess!” Anthony cried out. “I get it, I get that it was hard in the end! But I’ll always believe you made the wrong choices!”

He knocked over another desk and felt his face grow hot with rage.

“You told me you loved me in a shitty little note! You couldn’t even do it face-to-face!” Anthony screamed. “Kris told me you almost confessed, that random day at lunch! That day we were just eating pizza together, remember that plain-ass day, that ordinary day? Everything was so ordinary because everything was a lie, and you could have fixed that! You could have told me!”

Another desk. A plastic blue chair.

“I’ve had to deal with all these feelings! I tried to break-up with Kalel! I tried to put a gun to my head!” Anthony screamed, and it felt like absolute agony, deep down in his gut. “I had to go to a funeral, a service, months of therapy! I had to deal with the pity you went crazy trying to avoid!”

He kicked a desk and it scooted over a few feet and knocked into two others.

“I’m done being mad at you, I’m fucking done with it. I don’t want to feel like this anymore!” Anthony said, almost a yell now. “Ever since I tried to kill myself I’ve been stuck on this shit!”

He took a deep breath, and the pause calmed him slightly. He had a tendency to get carried away once he got started, a desire to say everything that needed to be said. That was something that he and Ian always differed on.

He looked back to the toppled desk that had stood in the spot Ian once had. He could picture him there so easily, hell, he could picture him anywhere. He saw Ian’s face every moment, in every memory he sifted through. He could imagine him in that classroom as a child, or again as an adult, when he still looked healthy, because he hated thinking of that pale face and small, thin form.

“I wish you were here. Or I wish I were crazy enough to believe that you’re here.” Anthony called out. “I know I’m talking to nothing, or myself, or fuck it, maybe you’re listening.”

He still didn’t believe in ghosts or angels. Ian died, and he was probably just gone now, that’s how he saw it. But he’d been yelling out at nothing too many times to pretend that he was absolutely sure it was nothing.

“Since you died, I’ve done everything wrong. I shouldn’t have tried to die for you, that’s not how love works. That’s how desperation and insanity work.” He said with a lump in his throat. He remembered the day he held that gun, the day he was only spared by Charlie’s death. What a terrible day, what a terrible way to possibly lose himself, all for something that wasn’t real. All for a monster that was only his poor, confused, hurting friend.

“I shouldn’t have tried to fuck Hana just because she looked like you, it was manipulating her, it was a disgrace to your memory.” He called out. He needed to find her and beg for her forgiveness. He damaged a relationship trying to chase down a girl he should never have cared for, a girl he should’ve turned away the moment she became his coworker.

“I shouldn’t have tried to forget you and move on when there’s still feelings lingering.” Anthony said, and having those words come from his mouth felt like bravery. His vision grew misty.

“I’ve been angry. That’s not on you. That’s just how I had to react. That’s just what happened.” Anthony said softly. “If you can hear me, don’t think it’s your fault. Don’t think you’re the bad guy.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks. He had long ago dissolved his anger at Ian for his actions, and now the anger was only general, was only his natural defense against a cruel world.

“It’s simple.” He stated quietly, and didn’t wipe his tears away. “All these problems. All this trouble. It’s exactly what they all thought it was.”

He frowned and let out a sob, and his whole body trembled as he stood there, everything silent except for his crying.

“It’s what Kris told me I was denying. It’s what John just assumed. It’s what Kalel was afraid of. It’s what my brother called me out on.” Anthony said. This was it. This was his moment.

“I’m in love with you.” He choked out. “Ian, I’m so in love with you. And you’re dead, and I can never be with you.”

He took a step back to the nearest desk and leaned against it, then buried his head in his hands. He shook as he sobbed, broken down and ready to accept the truth. He loved Ian back. He loved him endlessly. He loved his smile, he loved his bad haircut, he loved his blue eyes. He loved his humor, his quiet wit, his loyalty. He loved the way his personality was constructed so that things came together the way they did, because without the flaws he wouldn’t have every other beautiful part of him.

“I love you. Ian, I love you. I adore you.” Anthony whispered. “Not like the last time. Not like I thought I did. I won’t die for you.”

He wiped his tears away, and he still shook, but his sobs subsided.

“I won’t kill myself for you. I won’t be driven mad by a monster that isn’t real. I won’t destroy my life for you anymore.” Anthony said softly.

It was the revelation he needed, and now, it had been done properly. It wasn’t denial, it wasn’t lunacy, it was just the raw emotion, love in its purest form. 

Anthony sniffled and stood straight, then looked around the room. He’d knocked over several desks and chairs, and the neat little rows had become a jumble. Wordlessly, he picked up the desks, the little plastic chairs, and arranged them neatly once more. He went to the front of the classroom and looked at his work; it was like he was never there in the first place.

“I have to go now.” He said aloud, his voice hoarse. “I don’t think I’ll come back here.”

And then he walked away.

 


	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ohhhh my god my internet is so slow i barely got this shit up in time

There was no more tension in Anthony’s home. There was sadness. There was death. But during the days following Anthony’s confession, that was what he needed to be around. Because something wonderful happened to him then; Anthony finally mourned the way he needed to. No more feelings to fake, no more lies to tell himself. He was doing what he should’ve done in July right after Ian passed.

Kalel found an apartment the day he realized his feelings. When she came home and told him, he knew she sensed the change, and she gave him space while she packed. It wasn’t something she wanted, though he wasn’t completely clear on why. Maybe because Ian had been such a huge presence in his life that she felt like something extra. Maybe because she was insecure about Anthony’s sexuality, like if he loved Ian maybe he never could have loved her. Neither were true, but the pair didn’t discuss it. In time, maybe they would.

She wasn’t angry about it though, or if she was, she didn’t take it out on him. She carried on her packing in her room, and he spent a few days in bed in his own. They ate separately, they marathoned Chopped in silence. He was glad to have her.

While she was busy packing, he was lying in bed, sometimes scrolling dejectedly through Tumblr, sometimes marathoning random Youtube videos for hours on end. He paid no attention to the passage of time, and when Kalel moved out, he could only wish her luck and fall back into bed.

Every movement was slower, every time he took care of himself it was the bare minimum, but he knew it was temporary and was in no rush to return to normalcy. For now, his time on Earth was dedicated to the man he loved. For now, everything was for him and Ian.

It was November sixteenth when Anthony decided to visit Ian’s grave. The day was cold and cloudy, and he wore the white and blue flannel he took from Ian’s house the day after he tried to kill himself. He went to a flower shop, wrapped up in a jacket and gloves, and spent awhile debating what to get him before settling on white daisies.

When he got to the cemetery, he found that Ian’s grave looked the same as when he first saw it, shaded by tall trees with flowers left at the marker. The blue flowers left there were fresh, and Anthony knew his mother had been tending to the place.

“Hey.” He sat down in front of Ian’s name, carved into the stone. “I brought you daisies. I don’t know shit about flowers, but Charlie’s buried right next to our daisies, so I thought it would be nice.”

He set them in front of the stone and looked around a minute as he tried to form his words properly.

“It sucked that he died.” Anthony finally said lamely. “I hope you guys are having fun up there, if ‘up there’ is a thing.”

He rubbed his cold nose and sniffled as he gathered his thoughts once more.

“I love you, you know.” Anthony said. “If you told me when you were alive -- well, I don’t know if I would’ve felt this way. I don’t what I would have done. But there’s really no use dealing with hypotheticals, is there.”

He rubbed the back of his head and stared down at the irises and hydrangeas that Cheryl had left for her son. He would’ve liked them.

“I wish you were here. I really miss you.” Anthony sighed. “Not a lot of people can relate to realizing you love someone five months after they died. And I’m lonely.”

He pulled at the dead grass in front of him. It was a simple fact, but it was a hard one. He felt isolated from everyone else, drained and empty. If anything, it just showed that he was almost ready to go back to a real life. Just not yet. Right now he wanted to talk to Ian, to sit with someone who wasn’t really there.

“I wish I kissed you. Just once. I wish our intimacy wasn’t reserved to my wet dreams.” Anthony said, and then chuckled a little. “I wish for a lot of things. But I guess the reality is that I have to love you from afar. I have to love someone I can never have, just like you did with me. But I’m glad that at least it’s mutual now. I’m glad thinking of an alternate universe where we’re together.”

He stood up slowly, and placed his hand on the grave. He rubbed his thumb gently against the stone, as he would’ve preferred to do with Ian’s hand.

“I’ll come back for your birthday, okay?” Anthony whispered. “I’ll bring you some more flowers. I know you like blue, but come on, you need some variety.”

He walked away in silence, and he held a sense of relief. He could come back to this grave peacefully, he could keep visiting Ian while he recovered from his loss. He could make it work for the two of them. But that loneliness tugged at the back of his mind, so he knew where to go next.

***

The drive to Cheryl’s house took a half hour, and he only stopped at the same florist he’d been to earlier to get her some daisies to match her son’s. He wanted to tell her the truth, wanted to explain what had happened between he and Ian. Eventually, he would tell a lot of people a lot of things, maybe the whole story, but this was a good starting point. A woman who loved them both, a woman who deserved an explanation, even if she hadn’t been very involved with the affair. 

When he knocked on the door, he saw a tired face, but she didn’t look as though she’d been aging so fast anymore. She’d gone through years in months, but now she looked to be reasonably healthy. Time was helping her move on, though the sadness was still clear in her eyes.

“Anthony.” She said in surprise, and he held out the flowers.

“Got you these.” He said with a polite smile. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” She said, and stood aside for him to enter.

Anthony slipped off his jacket as he walked over to the kitchen table, and placed it on the chair in which he usually sat during Food Battle. Ian had been stalling on writing Food Battle 2012, and the unfinished script never saw the light of day after he passed. He quickly shook his head, distracted by the bad thought, and turned to see Cheryl putting the flowers in a vase.

“How are you?” He asked tenderly, and she gave a simple sigh in return.

“I’m well, thanks. How are you?” She asked as she tended to the flowers.

“I’m good.” Anthony replied, and it was almost honest.

“Are you sure?” She asked, and turned to him. He wasn’t certain how much she knew about what was going on with his life, like if she knew he tried to kill himself or broke-up with Kalel.

“Yeah.” He fidgeted, then decided to move the conversation forward. “I came here to talk to you. Can we sit down?”

“Sure.” She said in a chipper voice, and set the flowers down on the table, then sat at the chair that Ian usually took. “What do you need to talk about?”

“Well.” He started, and sat next to her. “It’s important.”

It occurred to him that he didn’t know how much she knew about any of this business. Ian told her he had cancer a week before he died, and he had no way of knowing if she’d been looking through Twitter or if she’d been informed by any friends of the drama that had been going on the past few months. It was possible she had no idea what Ian felt for him.

“Oh. Is it serious? Are you alright?” She asked, her words filled with concern.

“I’m fine, it’s just--” Anthony tried to collect his thoughts. “I just have to tell you--”

Cheryl was a kind woman, but he had no idea what her views were, what her intentions for Ian were. To tell her that her son was in love with a man shouldn’t have tarnished her memory of him, but Anthony suddenly feared that it could. That he would cause discomfort for her entire life, that he would put tension on a once sound relationship. So he decided instead to tell her a different truth.

“I cared about Ian a lot. I was devastated when he passed away.” Anthony said, and she nodded. “And it took me awhile to figure out why it hurt me so badly.”

She gave him a look that asked him to continue, and he hesitated for a moment. He knew he shouldn’t be embarrassed about coming out to Cheryl, eventually everyone would know the truth. But this was one bridge he was terrified of burning, because it was one of the only ones left that connected to Ian.

“I went through some stuff. And I’m getting better now. But the thing is, I love your son.” Anthony explained. “I’m in love with Ian.”

He couldn’t read the expression on her face. She bore no smile, but no frown, and there were tears in her eyes, but they didn’t spill over. A terrible anticipation bubbled up inside him, and he hastened to calm her.

“If that upsets you, or if you’re uncomfortable with me being here, that’s okay.” Anthony said in a rush, his voice steady despite nearly wanting to cry with worry. “I just want you to be comfortable. I don’t want to upset you.”

“Anthony.” She said, her voice tight, and he almost winced. “This is the last thing that could upset me.”

Relief hit him like a rush of cool air. Without thinking, he leaned forward and squeezed Cheryl into a tight hug. She returned it, and he sniffled as unexpected tears filled his eyes. How long had it been since he was met with approval? From anyone, let alone someone he could look up to? Who else in his life existed as an affectionate figure, a guiding light of kindness instead of just another adversary? Her existence was undervalued as much as her role in his life. She mattered in a way he could never explain to her.

“Anthony, dear.” She said again, and pulled away from him. “Thank you for telling me this.”

“Thank you for not being mad.” Anthony replied, and she shook her head.

“I could never, not for this.” She answered, then looked at him seriously. “I always thought . . . I always saw something there. I never pried, but--”

“But you could sense what they all could.” Anthony filled in patiently. She nodded.

“Ian, he -- he was fond of women, we both know that. But --” She looked unsure of herself. “I don’t want to give you false hope, but I saw something in him. In the way he looked at you.”

Anthony swallowed hard and looked at her thoughtfully. He had made the decision to only tell her about his feelings for Ian, and not Ian’s for him, but he played with the notion of going against that. Would that make her happy? Would it just be new information about her son or would she be wholly surprised?

“And -- and how would that make you feel? If our feelings were mutual?” Anthony asked, his breath shallow, and she gave him a sad look.

“You’re already family, Anthony.” Cheryl answered. “If he loved you, it would only be a bonus. But we shouldn’t focus on might-have-beens, especially when we can never get an answer.”

Anthony suddenly found himself blinking back tears yet again. Because he’d been so angry at Ian over this one thing, but it was the one thing that saved them. Because they did get an answer; Ian told it to them, to him, in that note.

“Cheryl.” He said with a shaky breath. “The day Ian died, and we were both at the hospital, John -- Doctor Marrow -- he gave me a note.”

With trembling hands, he pulled his jacket towards him and unzipped an inside pocket. Then he pulled out a folded up, wrinkled piece of paper, and looked at her with a clear and heavy importance.

“He wrote this to me. Just before he passed.” Anthony said, his voice strained, and held it out. “I think you should read it.”

She gave him a pained, measured look, then slowly reached out and took it. He could see her holding her breath with anticipation, and as she unfolded the paper, he closed his eyes. He knew what the note said, he had every word memorized. He wanted to see her reaction, some sign of approval, or at least not hatred or heartbreak; but at that tender moment, between a mother and the last thing her son had ever given the world, he gave Cheryl the privacy she deserved.

 

  _Anthony-_

   _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I'm leaving you. You'll never know how sorry I am. I don't want to go. I don't want it to end._

   _I never told you because I was scared. I didn't want things to change. I didn't want you to pity me, I didn't want everything to be weird, I didn't want our relationship to be ruined._

   _But then I waited awhile, then it was too long. And I didn't tell you because I wanted to protect you from the pain. I didn't want you to hate me. I didn't want to die miserable because of what I said or did to you. But I feel like shit, and I bet I would feel like shit whether you were with me right now or not. I should have told you. I should have warned you, I should have been a better friend._

   _I did the best I could, but I was blinded, because I was in love. In high school, God, I had such a crush on you, Ant, but I wasn't sure about anything, and then you were embarrassed, and then Frankie yelled at us- I decided to just force myself to like girls, to let you be happy. I just want you to be happy. But I can't protect you from everything, like I tried to with this cancer. It hurt to tell my mom, but it doesn't matter, because she deserved to know, like you deserved to know. You've been too good a friend not to know._

   _Please, don't stop going. Don't stop living. Grow up, get old. Be grateful for everything you have, because I wasn't, and now I have nothing._

   _Take care of Charlie for me._

   _I love you. And I'm so sorry._

  * _Ian._



 

“So you see.” He said after a minute, just above a whisper. “He loved me, too.”

He opened his eyes to see Cheryl wiping her own. Her mouth was twisted into a frown, her expression despondent, and for a moment, Anthony was terrified.

“You could have been happy together.” She said in a tight, high voice, and he realized why she looked so miserable. Her only son lost his chance at happiness before his short life ended.

“But we weren’t.” He answered with a sad smile, and then muffled an unexpected sob. Cheryl leaned forward and wrapped him into another hug, and they cried a bit more together, but there was nothing more they could do. The sadness was over, even though it still stung, and it was time to move forward.

He and Ian would never be together. He and Cheryl would never truly be family. And if he focused on it like it was the end of the world, it would be. But it wasn’t, and they would move on, and it would be a dull ache deep inside him to the day he died, but there’d be all that joy, too, all that family, and he knew he could live on.

“I think I should go.” Anthony said and pulled away. “I’ll give you some time.”

“What will you do?” Cheryl asked as she wiped her eyes.

“Probably lie in bed and watch Youtube videos for ten hours straight.” Anthony smiled. “But it’s what I need right now. I have to mourn.”

Cheryl nodded wordlessly, and he knew she understood. He got out of the chair and wrapped himself back up in his winter coat, and wiped his face and just felt relaxed. He knew he would return to this place. He would sit and talk to his would-be mother, he would go into Ian’s room and look at everything he left behind, he would sift through family photos and laugh at his bowl haircut. This was not the end.

“I’ll see you around, though, won’t I?” Cheryl asked with a voice full of hope, and he gave her a genuine smile.

“You will.” He said, and stepped out the door.

 


	32. Chapter 32

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> commentary on jackiestolz dot tumblr as usual

He was surprised that she called. November twentieth, and it had been some time since they’d seen each other, but nevertheless, he waited in the spot the voicemail told him to wait. The bridge they’d stood on the last time they spoke, the time they had a huge fight and ended their grand affair. But now he was going to see Hana again.

He only waited a few minutes before he saw her pale figure in the distance, shrouded in her light blue scarf and a navy beanie. He shoved his own hands deeper into his pockets and let out a breath; as he watched the fog flow from his mouth, he listened to her footsteps crunching on frozen grass as she stepped towards him. This would probably be the coldest day of the soon ending year. In ten days, on Ian’s birthday, he hoped it would be warm enough to lay down flowers without his teeth chattering.

She stepped onto the bridge and stared at him, only a few feet away. She said nothing, and he figured he should give her the speech he’d been rehearsing in his car.

“I’m sorry.” He began, and spoke again quickly when she opened her mouth. “No, wait, let me get through this.”

She gave him a look he didn’t understand, something questioning and stern, but fell silent. He gave a dry swallow and continued.

“I’m in love with Ian.” He claimed, and she didn’t look surprised. “And I’ve denied that love for a long time.”

He shuffled his feet, and maybe thought she would say something, but she still didn’t, so he continued.

“But this girl showed up who looked just like him. And when I chased her, I didn’t have to question my sexuality. I didn’t have to feel so guilty and confused.” Anthony said, then shook his head. “But that’s not an excuse. That wasn’t the right thing to do.”

His expression was pleading, only because he so badly wanted her to understand why he’d done what he’d done. He didn’t want this to make him a villain in her eyes, anything but this.

“I snuck around with an employee. I lied to you or I avoided the truth. I got you all vulnerable so I could get my gun back. I cheated on my fucking girlfriend.” Anthony said. “I fucked you over big time for my own gain.”

“Yeah, you did.” Hana said softly, her tone terse, but she made no move to speak again, so Anthony continued.

“Explaining what happened and why doesn’t take it away. It was still shitty. But I want to apologize, Hana.” He pleaded. “I want to apologize from the bottom of my heart.”

They fell silent for a moment, and Anthony desperately wanted to know what she was thinking. Guilt weighed down on him terribly, and he wanted her to forgive his grievances. For most things he’d done while he was in his denial, he felt no shame, because that was the way things had to be, and those were the things he had to do. But with Hana, with the way he twisted her, the way he used her as a placebo for his dead friend, that was truly insidious, and he knew it was something a bad person would do.

“I was horrible to you.” He said. “I never should have hurt you the way I did.”

“You will never understand how horrible you were.” She bit back, which surprised him. “I’ve been a fan since I was fifteen. I met you and liked you as much as I thought I would, but I held my shit down. I stayed professional. But then you’re telling me I look like Ian -- I knew what people said about you two, I knew I had a chance in something fucked up, but I couldn’t help myself.”

He stared at her, surprised by these revelations. She was the complete opposite of an open book, and even after all they’d been through he still hadn’t been sure why she liked him, what she saw in him, why she pursued a relationship she must have known was wrong to have.

“I admired you for seven years before I became an intern at your company. And you tried to manipulate me into sex because I looked like someone else.” Hana said, her voice hard, her eyes not even tearing up, but the look on her face was one of heartbreak, and Anthony knew that he had hurt her beyond repair. “And I did some bad shit, and I sure as hell hope my boyfriend never finds out about any of it. I can’t blame you for that, but I won’t forgive your sins just because I created my own.”

“Hana, please.” Anthony said. “I never knew you were a fan for so long, I didn’t know you were a fan at all. I never would have tried if I knew you were.”

“You can’t guarantee that.” She said, anger in her voice. “You can’t say what you would or wouldn’t have done. What you did matters. The way you kissed me, God I -- I liked you. And you asked for that gun a second later!”

He recoiled at her shout, and knew her anger was justified. All he could do was take his beating lying down, because that was what he deserved. He could try to defend himself on some points, but she was right about the gun.

“I took it to protect you. You know that! You know I would never want to risk your safety!” Hana yelled. “You asked for it back as if I would just do whatever you wanted, no matter what the cost! As if I was yours to control, as if you’d won the right to talk to me that way!”

“You told me you couldn’t trust me!” Anthony blurted out in his own defense, and she raised her brows.

“And I never will!” She retorted, and Anthony squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples.

“Do you honestly think I would kill myself?” Anthony asked in a low voice. “After all this?”

“I don’t know.” She said harshly, but it seemed harsher than she intended, and her slight look of regret made him feel hopeful before her face turned cold once more.

“With Ian? With the happy life he wanted me to live?” Anthony asked, his voice soft and hurt. “I couldn’t. I’d want to, a part of me will always want to, but I couldn’t.”

“You can tell yourself that all you like.” Hana said, then shook her head. “But I just can’t trust you.”

“You lied too, Hana. You cheated, too.” He pointed out defiantly, and she bit her lip.

“I know. And now I’ll live with that shit. But you were always the one with more power. You always had the upper hand you shouldn’t have had.” She said, and the simple truth bore into him. 

Her lies were out of pity or saving her own ass. His lies were to keep him in control, to keep him on top in every aspect of their brief relationship. They were both horrible people, but he was worse off. She could come to terms with what she had done, and he would forgive her for it, but Anthony would always be a black spot in her life.

“You want to know why I called you here?” She asked suddenly, and he nodded, hit with a slight nausea. He wasn’t feeling so great after all they’d said and done. “Look down.”

She stepped closer to the edge of the bridge, and he followed and crept up next to her, at a distance they’d been with each other the last time they were there. Their first kiss.

“What do you see?” She asked, and he looked down at the smoothly flowing river.

“I see twenty feet of air, followed by twenty feet of water.” Anthony answered as he gazed down at the grey waves reflecting the overcast sky.

“Well, if you were ever to travel through twenty feet of air and twenty feet of water.” Hana began, her tone testy. “You’d find a very large and very heavy block of concrete.”

“What?” He asked and turned to her, and found that he was too close for comfort. Her eyes were still so close to Ian’s, and when he gazed into them he could almost imagine it was him, but only almost. Guilt weighed too heavy on his soul for him to look for love in her eyes once more. But she didn’t look away when she spoke again.

“And inside that block of concrete, you would find a twisted hunk of metal that loosely resembled a gun smashed with a sledge hammer.” She said with a sly grin, and they looked down into the water at the same time.

“The gun’s destroyed.” Anthony said, and uncertain relief began to spread in his veins.

“Gone for good.” She nodded, and stepped away. She seemed to be leaving, so Anthony called out to her.

“Wait!” She paused. “When you told me you’d been here before, this was why?”

She nodded, and her hair blew in the wind, and she looked like a bad omen. He wished she looked that way the first time he’d seen her, as she walked towards him on set with her hair pulled back and her aura welcoming.

“So all this time, even during our meeting in the park. It was already destroyed.” He said in awe, and she let out a dark laugh.

“Actually, that time in the park, it was in my purse. But afterwards, yes, it was taken care of.” She said, and Anthony looked to her in terrible amazement.

“Don’t quit.” He said, and her grin faded. “You’re a good actress and the audience likes you. Don’t leave Smosh because of me.”

“I’m going back to Anaheim to be a receptionist at my boyfriend’s contracting company.” Hana replied. “I’ve lost my faith in comedy.”

“Hana, please.” He said in a last ditch attempt, and she began to turn away. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She paused, and the anticipation hung thick in the air. Her face was hidden by her fringe, so he couldn’t see her expression, though he knew if she turned fully towards him, he wouldn’t understand it anyway. He wished for her forgiveness, and he wished for an ability to understand her, because he knew how she felt as little as he did with poor Ian.

She turned, finally, and he saw no debate on her face. Her decision had been made; he could tell in her cold, hard gaze and the way it permeated him, the way it made him despair more than he had about anyone other than Ian. Poor Hana and poor him.

“Go fuck yourself.” She said, and turned and walked away.

He stood and listened to the water, to the wind blowing through the trees, to a place that should’ve been peaceful but was marred by arguments and break-ups and a busted up gun underneath a rusting foot bridge. There was nothing more he could do, and he felt a great shame in that, one he knew he would carry forever. He didn’t have a neat solution, he couldn’t tie this story up in a bow. She was leaving, he would never see him again, and that was all.

There would never be forgiveness, but Anthony wouldn’t beat himself up over it. Sometimes, he would look back on it, and heave a heavy sigh, and go on with his work, but he couldn’t change her mind or her heart, and if she was so angered, that was that. He’d always regret the way he treated her, the things he did, and he’d never fully forgive himself, but in time he would grow comfortable enough with it. Another burden to carry, like loving a dead man.

He looked down at the grey water once more.He couldn’t see to the bottom, but he could imagine that heavy concrete block just sitting there, and knew it would likely never be discovered. In a hundred years or so when they were all dead and gone, maybe, but Hana had done her work well, and gave him and Lee their safety. That was her parting gift to them, and it was an act of kindness to tell Anthony where the gun was.

If Ian were with him, or in Hana’s place, Anthony knew he would have done the same, and not called it kindness, merely the minimum of what should have been done for him. And Anthony knew Hana felt the same, and appreciated that at her core, she was good, despite the mistakes she had made. He added that kindness to the mental checklist in which he compared her to Ian, and then turned and walked away.

 


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> late af

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sick or not, it's inexcusable that i posted so late. i'm sorry guys. we're close to done.

It was Thanksgiving, and he was driving through sleet. Thick, heavy, icy, watery bullshit. This was a good day for packing; he could sit in the home he was planning to sell and tuck up all his belongings real nice, then end the day with some leftover takeout and a turkey themed Cupcake Wars. But instead he chose to visit someone he hadn’t seen in nearly two months, and though he wasn’t looking forward to the trip, he knew he needed to clear the air.

The reform home that Lee lived in was crowded; a lot of family members were meeting with their recuperating children, their abused and neglected, to eat a microwaved Thanksgiving buffet in the main hall of the place. Anthony parked worlds away from his brother’s little apartment, grabbed a bag on his passenger’s seat, and walked with brisk but careful steps, thoroughly soaked but not having slipped by the time he got to the awning above Lee’s door. He knocked quickly, and didn’t have to wait long for Lee to open up.

“Hey.” Anthony said, and Lee looked him up and down.

“Get your muddy shoes off before you get in here.” Lee said, and Anthony slipped off his shoes and put them down on the welcome mat before he stepped in. He didn’t take it as a particularly good sign that Lee was letting him in, as his moods were far too unpredictable to figure out whether or not he was going to cooperate. 

“Got you something.” Anthony said as Lee plopped down on the couch as usual. He held out the Urban Outfitters bag and Lee grabbed it unceremoniously and pulled out its contents. A button-up denim shirt, which Anthony thought would look good with his black skinny jeans (the only pair of pants he owned), and a gallon of cranberry juice with two plastic cups.

“Is this our Thanksgiving meal?” He held up the juice. “You know this shit’s no good without the vodka.”

But he opened it and poured two glasses anyway. Then he handed one to Anthony, who was sitting down in the chair across from him, and Lee drank without raising his glass to toast. Then he examined the shirt.

“I’ll make it work.” He said, and Anthony snorted as he pulled off his sweater -- the one Anthony had gotten him the last time he visited -- and pulled on the denim shirt. It was light, and it made him look less morose than his usual dark garb, which Anthony was glad for.

“How are you?” He asked, and Lee shrugged.

“It’s a grand old time at Fort Padilla.” He gestured to a dent in the drywall and some loose threads on the couch. “How’s Kalel?”

“She’s fine.” Anthony said, now his turn to shrug. “I don’t know much, she moved out.”

“I guess she found out you’re a cheating skunk.” Lee said, his tone casual but his anger clear. Anthony knew this wouldn’t be a fun conversation.

“Well, there was a lot more going on than that.” He said, but Lee looked away and he fell silent.

“And how’s that bitch Hana?” He asked, and Anthony shook his head.

“Gone. She quit and moved to Anaheim to become a secretary.” Anthony said, and Lee absolutely fumed.

“So you have no idea where she is.” He stated, his tone curt.

“Yeah.”

“And no idea where my gun is.”

“No.” Anthony said, and Lee tilted his head. He gave him a reassuring look. “The gun’s destroyed.”

Lee sat back and looked both surprised and confused at that statement.

“Destroyed?” He asked after a moment. “How -- how did you do that?”

“I didn’t. Hana did.” Anthony said, and saw even more shock form in Lee’s expression. “Remember, the suspicious bitch we were just mentioning?”

“What -- I mean, why?” Lee asked, and Anthony gave him the softest, saddest smile.

“To protect me.” He replied simply. “And I guess, by extension, to protect you.”

Lee stared at him for a moment, lips pursed, and leaned back after a moment.

“Well, that’s one problem done with.” He said, his tone still curt, but Anthony settled for what he could. “And one thing I was wrong about.”

“You were right on other shit.” Anthony said, and took a sip of his drink.

“Oh yeah?” Lee asked, and Anthony sighed and leaned his head back.

“I’m in love with Ian.” He said, and unsuccessfully fought back a half-grin when Lee gave him a broad smile. Then, playfully, added a simple: “Shut up.”

“Congratulations, man.” Lee said, and still wore a smile. “I’m not mocking, really. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, it’s great.” Anthony said, clearly sarcastic. “I’m in love with a dead man.”

“It’s great that you’re in love.” Lee said seriously. “That’s not so common in this sad-sack world.”

Anthony nodded thoughtfully. That was a nice way of putting it. It was nice to think that he could be special because of the love he held in his heart, to think Ian was special because of the love he had in his. But he still had to deal with the loss, the mourning, the pain, then and for the rest of his life.

“I’m still pissed at you.” Lee said, and Anthony looked up to see that Lee had changed the subject, and his features had gone stony once again. Anthony gazed at him a moment.

“I think you should be.” Anthony replied, and Lee nodded, then fell silent. Anthony sipped his cranberry juice.

“I suppose you should be a little pissed at me, too.” Lee said, and Anthony looked up at him in surprise. “There was a lot of shit I shouldn’t have said. You tried to kill yourself, I should’ve been more caring.”

“You shouldn’t have let me walk out of here with that gun.” Anthony continued, and Lee looked down at his shoes.

“Maybe not.” He mumbled. “But I stand by it. With my life on the line, I stand by it.”

Anthony wasn’t willing to argue that point, not anymore. That was what had angered him most these last few months, but he knew neither side would settle, so a fight was useless. Just as Hana had said, at the end of it all, they could sit together at Christmas dinner and still hold that grudge if it didn’t cause them to hate each other for good.

“That’s where we’ll stay, then.” Anthony replied, and Lee looked away thoughtfully.

“We can get through this. I’ve gotten through everything.” He said quietly, and Anthony raised his brow.

“I know.”

Lee looked back to him, and there was a clear sadness on his face. He had been alone so long, and Anthony hadn’t been around for so much. They were broken apart, yet here they sat and spoke of how they could pull through. How they would always pull through. It wasn’t just with Ian. It wasn’t just Hana and the gun. It had been years of passive heartache. But Ian, unknowingly, gave them a gift with his death; a catalyst to get things back to what was right. And that was all that Anthony wanted now.

“You really should join us in group.” Lee finally said in a dark tone. He finished his cranberry juice and set it on the table.

“I can’t go back to therapy.” Anthony said, and sat back as he rubbed his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I shouted at my therapist.” Anthony recalled. “I told him it was all bull-shit. He wanted me to recognize some feelings I wasn’t ready to admit existed. But in the end, I said some stuff.”

Lee gave him a questioning look that conveyed mild curiosity and subtle concern, and Anthony compared it to their first conversation after Ian had passed. What had first drawn him to connecting with Lee that day was his lack of pity he gave to his brother, and now it was the only thing that kept him speaking. Lee’s personality was so complimentary to his own.

“I told him I was tired of being studied, and that he was putting on this fakey safe space that played at being comfortable, but it was still his office. I was still having a conversation I didn’t want to have.” Anthony thought to himself for a moment. “The same one over and over. He knew I loved Ian, I just couldn’t admit it.”

“Why?” Lee asked, and Anthony hesitated.

“I didn’t want to reward him. He did a lot wrong and I was angry. I’m still angry. But it’s faded enough now that I realize he wasn’t a monster, he wasn’t a bad person. He was just my friend, making mistakes in a bad situation.” Anthony looked down. “And I thought being, well, bisexual, I thought that would invalidate my whole life before that. But that’s not how it works. I’m just being myself now.”

Lee hummed a confirmation.

“Well.” He began. “I guess you have no therapist to tell all that to.”

Anthony scoffed and nodded, then noticed Lee’s expression had gotten serious, and settled down to look at him more sternly. Lee took a moment to form his next thought.

“But . . . you have me.” He said, and Anthony could tell it took a lot for him to say so. Through all the shit they’d been through, this was Lee offering an olive branch, waving a white flag. Ian’s unwitting work. They were piecing their brotherhood back together.

Anthony smiled softly. They would be okay. He was sure of it.

“Wanna go get some turkey in the main hall?” He asked, and Lee gave him a crooked smile.

“I’ll stick to the stovetop stuffing, thanks.” He said, and he beamed as he stood to get his shoes, his favorite pair of black converse. 

They smiled amiably as they slipped on their shoes and rushed into the rain. They would have peace. Things would work out for them. Anthony was sure.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is the second-to-last chapter so dig in kids

It was December First. Yesterday, Ian had turned twenty five. Anthony had met Cheryl at the grave, him with yellow primroses (which symbolize love, according to a winking florist), and her with bluebells. They spoke amiably before Anthony returned home, let a buyer and a real estate agent in to look around, and packed up half his office. He missed working, which surprised him, and what surprised him even more was the ding of his phone that revealed a text from Mari.

_Office meeting in a half hour. If you want to keep your job, I figure you’ll be there._

His chest felt tight. Of course they wanted him gone, he had become a menace. The last time he’d been in the Smosh offices, he’d begged everyone to listen to him, to help him change things for the better, but he was in a sad state, and came off more like a raving actor than a proud leader. 

And he never thought he’d spend that day throwing on his winter jacket and climbing back into his car, but he couldn’t lose Smosh. He’d lost compassion while he was struggling with his love for Ian, then while he was in mourning, but now he cared. Now he needed to make a plan, to desperately convince them to let him keep his job, to save Smosh. To do right by Ian.

He pulled into the lot and rushed into the building. The halls were empty and the studio silent; he had to assume the meeting had already started. He bounded up the stairs to the offices and cubicles, and slammed the doors open.

He was met with a startled silence as the entirety of the office stared at him. Everyone he quickly glanced over had furtive, downcast expressions; except Zack, whose brilliant smile shone against his dark skin, even as he tried to conceal it, and Mari, who looked both hopeful and understandably worried.

“Sorry I’m late.” Anthony said stiffly.

“. . . Anthony.” Mr. Morgan began slowly from his spot stood in the corner. It seemed that Anthony’s entrance had interrupted whatever Morgan was saying to the team. “You’ve come at a good time.”

Anthony walked through the crowd and settled into an empty chair next to Mari, as though she were saving it for him. The silence continued as Zack absolutely beamed, and when Anthony caught his eye, he could tell the man was rooting for him.

“Well, moving on, there is an urgent need for more actors.” Morgan addressed the room as he paced in his corner. “Getting by on Mari, Rj, and Rosa isn’t going to work anymore. The business aspect of this suggests rehiring, which we will have to--”

Morgan paused, noticed something out of the corner of his eye, and turned. There sat Anthony, his hand raised calmly in the air. Morgan seemed hesitant for only a moment, then returned to a stony-faced expression.

“Yes, Mr. Padilla.” He said curtly, and Anthony put down his hand.

“I’d like to discuss the casting budget.” Anthony said calmly, and the normalcy of it seemed to surprise him.

“Our casting budget is the same as our last hiring, with a similar goal of between six and twenty new members.” Morgan answered.

“Just that much?” Anthony questioned, though he could tell Morgan didn’t want him to. “We have a surplus in the back-up funds that we can use.”

“That surplus was the result of collapsed plans following Mr. Hecox’s death.” Morgan answered. “One day, eventually, we might get the Smosh Cartoons off the ground, but for now, those savings are reserved for new business plans.”

The crowd around them seemed wary, but Anthony knew what he was doing now.

“Back to the task at hand, hirings should begin immediately. I feel that skipping an audition and just selecting based on resume would be a time saving. . .” Morgan trailed off as he again spotted a raised hand from the corner of his eye. The whole room was dead silent as Morgan turned back to Anthony, all of them wondering if Morgan would even allow him to speak.

“. . . Yes, Mr. Padilla?” Morgan asked in a cautious tone, and Anthony lowered his hand.

“I’d like to propose a new business plan.” He said simply. Nervous and confused laughter flitted about the room for a moment.

“Anthony, please --” Morgan began, but Anthony cut him off.

“I founded this company.” He said, his tone commanding, and the laughter died out instantly. “I think I can speak when I want to.”

He could feel how taken aback his coworkers were, and could see it clearly in Morgan’s face. But for Morgan, this could have been an advantage; if he wanted Anthony out, all he really needed was another crazy rant. Anthony really needed to pull this off, and as he stood, he knew it was all or nothing.

“You have the floor, then.” Morgan said, and stood back. Anthony gave him a curt nod and addressed the employees.

“Our business model has failed.” He began. “It failed the day Ian died. It was meant for the two of us, and now it’s just me. So we need to adjust.”

Apprehension rose in the crowd as his employees looked around at each other. It was hard to tell how badly this would go, but they seemed to feel disaster was the only outcome. Before Anthony could continue, Morgan spoke up once more.

“Ian’s passing has affected all of us.” Morgan said. “But we _have_ adjusted already. You’re the one who hasn’t gotten back on track.”

The team murmured in begrudging agreement. Morgan may have been an uncaring hard-ass, but in their eyes, that was better than a crazy former friend who deserted them all. Anthony, in annoyance, shook his head.

“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t getting back on track. Acting like nothing’s happened or like my life wasn’t destroyed isn’t getting back on track.” Anthony stated, and though he was trying to sound brave, there was clear pain in his voice. “You want me to suck it up, right? Put on a happy face and stand in front of the cameras?”

The question was rhetorical, but he still stared down Morgan with anger and slight desperation. He was making it very clear how much this situation had pained him, and for the first time, he wasn’t doing it with a breakdown. It was sad, but it was healthy, and on a subconscious level, those in the room recognized that.

“I can’t do that.” He said. “I’m not going back to acting.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Marrow said, but someone else stood up. Brandon, another coworker he’d so far distanced himself from.

“Anthony, you’ve only abandoned us three freaking times now.” Brandon said boldly. It was clear that he was disgruntled that Anthony, a once prominent figure, had fallen so far, and fucked them all over in the process. “Can’t you make up your mind?”

“I am. Right now.” Anthony said firmly, but stayed calm as he didn’t want to start anything. “I’m not abandoning you, but I’m done acting.”

He looked to the crowd once more.

“I can’t pretend I’m happy without him. I can’t act like it’s okay that I’m still doing Smosh without him.” Anthony explained. “But I still love this place, and I swear I will never leave you guys again. From now on, I stay behind the cameras. With my new business plan, of course.”

Brandon gave him a strange look, confusion mingled with relief, and sat back down. Satisfied, Anthony turned back to Morgan, who crossed his arms in annoyance.

“And what is this grand plan?” He questioned. “You’ve got the entire structure planned out?”

“Yes, I do. I thought of it while mourning.” Anthony answered proudly. He turned back to the crowd. “There’s a lot of crying, a lot of sadness, and a lot of marathoning Youtube in your bed all day.”

A few of them chuckled to themselves in amusement, and Anthony felt a sad smile form on his lips.

“We have our surplus funds, it’s time to spend them. I propose we buy out the popular Youtube channel Clevver Games, and create a whole new channel called Smosh Games.” He turned to Mari. “Featuring the whole gang of guys over there, plus our own Smosh star, Mari Takahashi.”

He pulled a thick manilla envelope out of his jacket pocket and tossed it onto the desk closest to Morgan.

“That’s our buy-out proposal, complete with benefits, vacation time, annual and bi-weekly salary, and staff advantages.” Anthony said. “We can submit it to their office today, I know the address and can have it dropped off.”

Morgan seemed to fume at that, but Anthony wasn’t done.

“And I wouldn’t mind eventually being featured in that show, too.” Anthony said. “No bullshit though. I won’t fake a smile, I’ll take them as they come.”

“Enough.” Morgan began angrily. “This is ridiculous. Must you be petulant every time something doesn’t go your way? We all understand that you’re dealing with your own problems, but you can’t just storm in here every few months and act like a lunatic!”

Anthony looked at him a moment, and the smallest part of him wanted to fight back, but in that moment, he knew it was best not to. And then, he knew exactly what to say.

“You’re not the bad guy.” He said, and he saw the surprise on Morgan’s face. They’d been fighting for so long, working so ruthlessly against each other, and Anthony had always made him out to be the villain. But if he wanted to fix his company, he knew he needed everyone on his side, and Morgan was a part of that.

“There’s nothing wrong with trying to keep a good thing going.” Anthony continued, a careful brand of concern in his voice. “And you’ve done a great job doing so. But the plan doesn’t work, and nothing you do will change that.”

Morgan wasn’t the big bad guy. He was doing all he could do to keep a company afloat, and even though he antagonized people he shouldn’t have, he had been doing his job all along.

“I can’t carry all this on my own, that’s why we hired you in the first place.” Anthony said. “We need you to help us through this transition.”

Morgan looked at him thoughtfully, his arms still crossed and his expression neutral. The crowd seemed confused that Anthony wasn’t fighting back, but none of them found themselves disagreeing as they looked to Morgan and waited for a response.

“So . . .” Morgan said slowly after a moment. “We’ll make a new channel for video games. That sounds . . . fair.”

Anthony grinned, but it only lasted a moment before Morgan uncrossed his arms and spoke again.

“But.” He said, and the whole room paused. “What will become of the main channel?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Anthony said with a smile. “We’ll still hire actors, though I totally disagree with you, we really need auditions.

“This, though, this is the cool part.” Anthony said, and turned to the crowd. “We outsource. Turn the weekly Smosh video into a variety show.”

Everyone looked around at each other, uncertain, but Anthony didn’t falter.

“There are so many kids out there who want to write or perform, but they don’t have the means. But now they have us. Teenagers send in their scripts, and we act them out. Local actors perform skits together, comedians do stand-up, and we help them all do it.” Anthony explained. “Think about a Smosh fan knowing that I critiqued their work. Think about the exposure these kids will get from our polished performances. They don’t have green screens and special effects budgets that we have. In becoming a variety show, in sponsoring these people, we’re giving them an opportunity they never dreamed of!”

“While in return, we’d produce genuinely funny content and bring in humor from around the globe.” Morgan mused, and Zack stood with a smile.

“Not to mention we’d be competing with vloggers while still working with a select few of them, doing relatable skits within their sit-and-talk method.” Zack said. Another employee, Will, stood up as well.

“And when we eventually get a few regulars, we can team up officially. Twitter, promos, they’ll be part of the cast just like our new kids.” Will said, and people nodded and began to speak amongst themselves.

“And if the audience likes them, we can do activities outside of pre-written performances, like game-show type contests.” Daniel said from his chair.

“Vloggers always attract merchandising.” Jess said from her own seat. “Eventually the difficult business dealings of hiring consultants will be overcame by the T-shirt cash we’ll make.”

“Wow.” Mari said softly next to Anthony, and he looked down at her as the room buzzed with ideas. “This is actually amazing.”

“You sound surprised.” Anthony joked, but he knew she wasn’t alone in that. He never had expected this kind of response; he was trying to save his company from bankruptcy, but he ended up banding them together.

“So.” Morgan said, and everyone paused their excited planning and turned to him, maybe a little worried as to what he would say. But he surprised them all with his first genuine smile. “I guess that’s settled. A gaming channel, and a variety show channel. And Mari will continue the Movie Mondays series that replaced Ian is Bored, still with guest Youtubers and the actors we have remaining.”

Across the room, Zack looked over to Anthony, and still he beamed and looked beyond proud. Anthony smiled wide, and realized that there was nothing to worry about now. He’d saved them, just like he meant to, but never how he thought he could.

“Alright, we have planning to do.” Marrow spoke again. “Zack, get the whiteboard. Anthony, we have to make an announcement. Would it be alright for you to do that with us?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Let’s do it.”

The room dispersed as people rushed around, off to do various chores, but Anthony stayed in place as Zack worked his way towards him. When he was stood a foot away, he clapped him on the shoulder and grinned.

“Ian would’ve loved this.” Zack smiled warmly, and Anthony nodded in appreciation, and he was so glad to know it was true. 

“Come on.” Anthony smiled in return. “We’ve got work to do.”

 


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is it, the last chapter! thank you for coming this far! there's more notes at the end but for now, enjoy!

It was Thursday, and Anthony had never felt more free. He got up early, had a nice breakfast, and sang along to music until the moving truck arrived. He could feel this lightness around him, this ecstatic purity than enveloped not only his now former home, but the entirety of the world surrounding him. It was a countdown to better times.

Kalel was helping him pack up the truck, thankfully. Their friendship was incredible, and he loved spending time with her -- both at that moment and at work, together at Smosh Games. He hadn’t been on the show just yet, but he enjoyed watching her crush everyone at Mario Kart as he got to know the new team better. It always felt good having her around, like their friendship was just what was right in the world.

Their noses were red from the cold and their hands were swathed by mittens and stuffed into coat pockets by two in the afternoon. Anthony insisted they take a break, though Kalel insisted that he fix them a snack while she continued to haul boxes.

“This is why I didn’t pack those two mugs and the vegan hot chocolate mix!” Anthony called out to her as he walked back to the house to grab the chocolate mix that accommodated her new lifestyle. He heard her laugh in the background, but paused on the sidewalk when he spotted something in the distance.

Walking towards him, there came a familiar set of faces. A short man with white hair, whose fine suit was covered by a thick coat, and a tall tanned man beside him, who looked far different in jeans than he did in his lab coat. Anthony was surprised to see them both, and stepped forward, albeit cautiously.

“John.” Anthony greeted Marrow as he stepped closer. “Kris.”

He wasn’t sure why they were there or what they wanted from him. Though he was on good terms with John, and intended to see him in the future, he’d ended things poorly with Kris. He screamed at him about therapy he couldn’t handle, because the environment just wasn’t right for him, and because Kris was pushing him to admit things he wasn’t ready to admit.

“Hello, Anthony.” Kris said with a smile, and Anthony conceded he was glad to see it. He didn’t want Kris to hold a grudge against him. “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” Anthony nodded. “How’s retirement?”

Even though he was concerned he’d touched a sore subject, Kris smiled.

“It’s going very well.” He answered, and Anthony was glad for it.“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m getting ready for L.A.” Anthony said, then glanced behind him to see Kalel still loading boxes diligently in the distance. “Kalel -- my ex, John -- she’s helping me move today.”

“So you two are no longer together?” Kris asked, and he looked incredibly curious while John just smiled.

“No, we uh, we had a lot of problems.” Anthony said. There was a look on Kris’ face that told him clearly what he was hoping to hear, but he stayed polite.

“I’m sorry, that’s unfortunate. It’s a shame that all the problems we discussed came to fruition.” Kris said, and Anthony shifted on his feet.

“Not really. We’re both happier now.” Anthony said. “And we’re both better people, really. It was just time for things to end.”

“That’s very wise thinking.” Kris said proudly, and Anthony shrugged. “Is Hana still in the picture?”

Now was Kris’ turn to touch a sore spot. Anthony hadn’t heard from Hana since her departure back in November, and could only assume that she was out in Anaheim, hard at work and safe with her boyfriend. It was the right thing to break-up with her, but the whole affair still left a sour taste in his mouth.

“No.” Anthony said, and Kris visibly perked up. “No, she moved on.”

Kris seemed satisfied, but that look on his face persisted, and Anthony knew he wouldn’t push it, but he also knew the effort Kris had put into both him and Ian.

Ian came to him sick and alone, his mind twisted and his thoughts all scrambled up and focused on hiding his disease when they should’ve centered on enjoying the final months of his life. And Kris had a soft spot he shouldn’t have had, and did some things that weren’t right, and in the end it aided the secrecy of Ian’s sad state. But he knew that, and he tried to fix things with an angry, cruel man who was mourning a friend and nursing feelings he didn’t understand. Kris had stood by them not as a psychologist, but as a friend, and Anthony was always willing to move on from the mistakes his friends made, no matter how little he liked or understood them.

So Anthony gave him a half-grin and rolled his eyes.

“And I’m in love with Ian, so there’s that.” He said finally. Kris absolutely beamed, a fond twinkle in his eye as he smiled and John spoke for the first time.

“Good for you, Anthony.” John said kindly. “We should talk about it some time.”

“Yeah, definitely.” Anthony answered. “I still have your number, we should meet up after the holidays.”

John merely smiled softly, and the trio fell into silence for a moment.

“Listen.” Anthony said and scratched the back of his head. “I know that I haven’t been the greatest guy these past few months.”

“Anthony, my boy.” Kris cut in. “I absolutely refuse to hear an apology you don’t need to give.”

“I agree.” John jumped in immediately, before Anthony could refute it. “You’ve been through a lot, there’s no need to feel ashamed of it.”

Anthony nodded slowly. They were right, even though he felt horrible for not offering himself up somehow. It was a long journey, and a lot of it involved being a bad person.

“We should leave you to your packing.” Kris said after a moment.

“We only wanted to stop by real quick and see how you were.” John explained, then pointed to the older man beside him. “His idea.”

“Well thank you.” Anthony said, and shook both their hands. “You’ve both been so helpful to me these past few months, I mean it.”

“Thank you, but I really can’t imagine that I’ve been that helpful.” John said, and Kris tutted him. Anthony smiled at that.

“You have been. Really.” Anthony said. “It was great seeing you again.”

“And of course you’ve been helpful.” Kris turned to John. “You’re a courteous and lovable fellow, you make people feel comfortable. You’ve rubbed off on this young man you know, don’t forget that.”

John was flushed, and gave a shy smile at that. In the distance, Anthony heard Kalel call his name.

“Thanks, dad.” John said, and the pair turned and walked away. Anthony’s jaw dropped in surprise, and he wanted to call out to them and say more on the subject, but he heard Kalel walk over to him.

“Anthony!” She called out as she approached. “Come on, we’ve only got this truck for another hour, and I want that hot chocolate!”

Anthony chuckled to himself. It made sense, after all.

“Okay, let’s get the hot chocolate.” He swung his arm around her, and they walked up the driveway, a pair of friends on their way to an abandoned love-nest that was once their own.

“Who was that?” She asked as they headed in. “It looked like Doctor Rosenthal.”

“Yeah, it was.” Anthony said, deep in thought. “Just a pair of friends stopping by.”

‘Friend’ was a nice word, one that held venom back when he mourned Ian, back when he was uncertain of their friendship, so uncertain that he abandoned all others just to focus on what had went wrong. It was a good sign that he could turn and see friends in new spaces, and he knew it was healthy. He knew he was moving on.

***

“Okay, guys, we’ve got a lot of shit to do today!”

Friday, December 28th, and Anthony was standing at his new desk in the Smosh Games offices, listening to Jovenshire dole out directions to the rest of the crew. He smiled softly to himself as he unloaded a box full of files and continued to listen to the rabble in the next room.

“Sohinki, I told you to set up for the Game Bang!” He heard Jovenshire say. “No, don’t act like I told --”

“Hey! Don’t drag me into this!” Lasercorn yelled defensively.

“Wes, please edit this for me!” He heard Mari whine above the crowd, and he snorted to himself and wondered if Zack could hear them all the way up from his office.

Suddenly, Kalel appeared in the door, and leaned against the frame and examined his organization for a moment. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” She asked an expected question, but Anthony understood the care behind it. He put down a file and looked up to her.

“No.” He admitted. “But we’re taking it slow, and I’ve got plenty of support, so I’m not too worried.”

She nodded slowly, but still looked concerned.

“You can always cancel.” She said, and he gave her a soft smile.

“I know. But for now, I want to go back to filming.” Anthony said. “At least, with you guys.”

She returned the smile and said nothing as she turned and disappeared into the office with the others. Anthony sighed, and set down his remaining trinkets on top of his desk, and then picked up the last thing in the box. A picture of Ian, with a bright smile and a hopeful gaze. He looked younger, healthier, the way Anthony always remembered him.

“Anthony!” Mari appeared in the doorway now, and she bore a wide smile. There was shouting and laughter in the room behind her, which made the whole space seem jovial. “Come on, we’re ready!”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec.” Anthony said to her with a smile, and she went back into the room.

He set the picture of Ian down on his desk. His coworkers understood what had gone on between them. In time, so would the fans. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming about it, but Kalel explained things to a few people, and the pictures now at both his desks and the fondness in his voice when he spoke of him were obvious hints. There was no need to rush a reveal, especially given his recent track record with the spotlight. All in due time.

But now his desk was ready, and he had work to do. So he left that office into the next, and filmed for Smosh, finally with a smile on his face.

***

He got a nice apartment in Los Angeles, with a great roommate. Lee agreed to live with him as soon as he offered it, and he found a job as a waiter. His hours were long, but he still wore a sly grin at the end of his shifts, and was still as kind as he personally could be to Anthony. He was happy that he was in love with Ian, and in time, would encourage him to date again. ‘Just leave a sock on the door, bro,’ He’d say with a laugh as Anthony would throw the closest object at him.

He bought a cat and named it Pip, started eating healthier, cut his hair and wondered if Ian would’ve liked it. He went to church with Cheryl every Sunday and shook hands with Deacon Franklin, and eventually gave him a check so he could keep the place running, then visited dear Ian’s grave, flowers in hand. He read scripts sent in from all over the world, from young comedians who deserved nothing but success, and he felt like he was helping people more than he ever had before. Their views were up along with their subscriptions, and Anthony found himself enjoying his work, especially on the days when Lee would guest star in Game Bang.

He was slowly becoming okay again. He was gaining something worthy of the heartache he’d suffered his way through, something completely ethereal in purpose; he now had peace he never knew he lacked, he felt a safety he hadn’t known had faded. 

There was something beautiful in moving on, and he saw it every day, in every kind face, and every night, when things sometimes grew hard and his thoughts were harsh. The beauty was in change, and its inevitability, and the fact that it scared so many people, because they didn’t realize it was a chance to make amends, a chance to speak the truth, a chance to settle old debts, a chance to recover, and that was something Anthony realized now, and it was something he could appreciate, and he felt whole and healthy throughout any pride or hardship to the end of his days.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, it's been so wonderful reading your kind comments, i appreciate all of you darlings! please leave me a comment and tell me what you thought! you can check me out on tumblr as jackiestolz for commentary both now and in the future!


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